


It is to be.

by SoManyJacks



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Angst, Biting, Bull swears like a lot seriously, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Following the Qun is hard yo, Humor, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Minor canon divergence, POV Iron Bull, Pining, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Unrequited/background Cullen x Krem, lots of swearing I warned you, ok ok I promise there's a happy ending, past emotional abuse, past slut-shaming, surprisingly no nugs, total power exchange (temporary)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:03:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 86,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5060374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyJacks/pseuds/SoManyJacks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bull's a long ways from the Qun. The thread by which they hold him is thin, taut, stretched. If they pull it, will it hold, or snap under the Inquisition's weight? And more to the point, will it survive him meeting this infuriating 'Vint mage?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Tide Rises

**Author's Note:**

> The title is the translation of "Asit tal-eb", which comes up often in Qunari lore. The chapter titles are from the [Qunari Soul Canto:](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_The_Soul_Canto)
> 
>  
> 
> _A vast granite statue stands on an island, holding back the sea._  
>  _The heavens crown its brow. It sees to the edge of the world._  
>  _The sea drowns its feet with every tide._  
>  _The heavens turn overhead, light and dark. The tide rises to devour the earth, and falls back._  
>  _The sun and the stars fall to the sea one by one in their turn, only to rise again._  
>  _The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless._  
>  _Struggle is an illusion. There is nothing to struggle against._  
>  _The deception flows deeper. The statue resists the ebb and flow of the sea._  
>  _And is whittled away with each wave._  
>  _It protests the setting sun, and its face is burned looking upon it. It does not know itself._  
>  _Stubbornly, it resists wisdom and is transformed._  
>  _If you love purpose, fall into the tide. Let it carry you._  
>  _Do not fear the dark. The sun and the stars will return to guide you._  
>  _You have seen the greatest kings build monuments for their glory_  
>  _Only to have them crumble and fade._  
>  _How much greater is the world than their glory?_  
>  _The purpose of the world renews itself with each season. Each change only marks_  
>  _A part of the greater whole._  
>  _The sea and the sky themselves:_  
>  _Nothing special. Only pieces._
> 
>  
> 
> And if you're wondering why on earth I'd torture myself with yet another Adoribull fic, from Bull's perspective no less, blame [Sinope.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinope/pseuds/Sinope)

Walking through Redcliffe, Bull knows something is seriously wrong. He can sense it in everything. That rift by the gate was the first clue. Bull saw Varric shoot a bolt into a lesser shade. He actually  _ saw  _ the bolt, spiraling through the air as it landed in the demon with a sickening squish. Yet when he stepped to the side to raise his axe against a wraith, Bull found he was moving normally, and everything around him had slowed down.

But it’s not just the rift - the whole Village is off. He’s walking with Evelyn and Varric and Solas, and it just feels  _ wrong. _ Bull can’t put his finger on it, and that shakes him more than anything. Plus the place is crawling with mages. Maybe it’s the Fade or the Veil or some other shit like Solas is always harping about.

He holds his tongue, though. Evelyn was on edge already. Without something more than a vague unease to go by, telling her anything would’ve just made her edgier. And there’s a fine line between the kind of edge that gives you an advantage, and the edge that makes you stupid.

Didn’t take long to sort it out. There’s a fucking Magister running the place. Bull takes one deep breath, drawing in his rage and letting it out. He needs to see,  _ really  _ see, like he was trained to do. And that means being calm. No doubt there’d be plenty of assholes to sink his axe into later.

You didn’t need to be Ben-Hassrath to see that Alexius was hiding something. Bull turns his attention to the rest of the room, putting on the look of a bored merc waiting to be told what to smash. 

It’s a useful look. He’s gotten a lot of mileage out of it over the years. Sure enough, the magister tosses a sneer at him and ignores him completely, focusing on Evelyn. Good. That leaves Bull free to watch Fiona. The former Grand Enchantress looks confused, keeps shaking her head as if she’s forgetting something.  _ Maybe a geis. _

Bull looks around some more. There’s another ‘Vint, hovering by the door.  _ Family resemblance.  _ Alexius’ son, or maybe a much-younger brother. He’s watching the magister, looks like he’s waiting for something. Then he takes a few steps in the hall.

When he gets to the door, his mannerisms shift. He crumples a bit and starts to stagger.  _ Faking illness. _ It’s a very good fake, though. Like he’s done it before. And he totters towards Evelyn, not Alexius. Bull tenses, looking for a dagger. He stands, giving a huff of frustration, like a merc who’s sick of talking and wants to leave.  

Alexius introduces the guy as his son, Felix. If there’s a blade, it’s well hidden, and if this Felix kid can hide a blade from Bull he’d better be a fucking Crow. 

Then Bull sees the scrap of paper in his hand. He’s trying to pass a message along. Bull relaxes and lets it play out.

Sure enough, Felix falls down, and Alexius freaks out, ushering them out in a hurry. Bull watches as Felix allows his father to help him out. His skin’s not a great color. Maybe Felix really is sick. 

Outside, Evelyn reads the note. “What do you think?” 

“Trap,” Bull says.

“Definitely,” Varric chimes in. 

“I’m not so certain,” Solas says. 

Bull rolls his eyes. Sometimes he thinks the elf is purposely being a dick. 

“I’m thinking trap as well,” Evelyn nods. “Well. Better go spring it. Time’s a-wasting.”

When they open the Chantry doors, the telltale green glow of a rift seeps out. “Fucking demons,” Bull snarls.

And yeah, there’s demons. And a rift. And _another_ fucking ‘Vint.

Bull’s about to say ‘blood mage’ and test the efficiency of the fullers on his axe, when he sees the ‘Vint swing his staff. Not to cast a spell at them, but to bash it upside the head of one demon, and then spin to take down another. And neatly, too, like he knows how to use that staff for more than just channeling magic. Bull freezes in surprise, his eye wide. 

The guy turns, and he is fucking gorgeous. Before Bull can really take it in, the guy speaks. “Good, you’re finally here. Help me close this, would you?”

The mage is good in a fight, Bull will give him that. Not that he can watch too closely as they wade through wave after wave of demons. Finally Trevelyan closes the damn rift. 

The ‘Vint is talking almost immediately about the mark. Evelyn backs him up and he introduces himself. Dorian Pavus. It fits him, the name. Not for the first time, Bull wonders about people who didn’t get to pick their name, whether having a name from birth shapes a person, or the other way around.

The guy’s still talking, and it’s clear he likes it that way. He’s cocky and brash and it’s almost completely genuine. Most people put that on as a front, or because they’re fooling themselves. This guy believes it, though, and if he’s as smart as he is good with that staff, he’s earned it. Bull decides to poke him, see what happens.

“Watch yourself. The pretty ones are always the worst.” Bull growls, staring hard at Dorian.

Dorian looks at him, his expression mild, curious. Not scared, and there aren’t many who can stare down an angry one-eyed Qunari covered in demon guts and not shake a little. But Dorian doesn’t. He just raises his eyebrows and smirks. “Suspicious friends you have here,” he says to Evelyn.

Bull doesn’t laugh, or smile, because it wouldn’t be so great to be grinning like an idiot in the middle of a busted-down Chantry surrounded by demon corpses. But he feels that  _ click, _ the same one he felt when he met each and every one of his Chargers, the same one he felt when he met Evelyn on the Storm Coast. 

And then Dorian makes a joke about sending Alexius a fruit basket. And Bull laughs, because it’s funny, but also because now maybe there’s a little heat behind the click, if he’s being honest. This should be interesting. 

***

Next time he sees Dorian is back in Haven. He shows up a few days after they get back from Redcliffe. He’d hitched with a trade caravan, riding on the back of a wagon loaded with vegetables. Bull’s seen a lot of things in his day, but watching an Altus mage, robes worth more than the entire caravan put together, sitting on a sack of turnips like it’s a fucking gilt carriage? That's a new one. 

Krem watches with a disbelieving smirk. “Whaaaat the fuck,” he says. “Who the hell is that?”

“Fancy-pants ‘Vint we met in Redcliffe,” Bull says. The carriage pulls to a halt at the gates, and it’s obvious the farmer driving the wagon has no idea that his passenger is a Tevinter. The guards surround the wagon, weapons drawn. Dorian's already talking, and he’s getting frustrated when they won’t let him in. There’s a couple of Templars not far that have begun to take notice.

Bull jogs up as the mage starts questioning the intelligence of the guard captain. “Dorian!” Bull says. “You made it.” He holds out his hand.

Dorian blinks once and then relaxes into the act, shaking Bull’s hand heartily. “I did.” 

“And on a sack of turnips,” Bull grins. 

“Indeed.” His face is calm but his eyes are wary. 

“Lemme take you up to the boss,” Bull offers. “Unless you wanna rest that tender rump first.”

The guard captain backs off, sheathing his sword. “You’re vouching for him?” He points with his chin at Dorian.

Bull nods. “I can handle one pretty ‘Vint, Captain. I got it.”

“Pretty ‘Vint?” Dorian blusters, but he tags along behind Bull through the gates. 

“Well, aren’t you?” Bull tosses the line over his shoulder as he strides through the village.

Dorian's almost running to keep up. “Well,  _ yes, _ but -”. He doesn’t finish the thought, looking around in alarm as people stop what they’re doing to stare at him. “I get the feeling people aren’t just enamored of my good looks.”

Bull snorts. “You expect a parade?”

“ I wouldn’t turn one down,” Dorian sniffs.

Laughing, Bull pushes open the door to the Chantry. “Back room. Might wanna, you know, disarm yourself before you go in.”

Dorian stops short. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. I can’t exactly leave my staff lying around.”

“I’ll keep it,” Bull offers. He holds out his hand. It’s a test, and Dorian knows it. 

Dorian stares at Bull's hand, thinking hard. “In for a penny, I suppose.” He says it slow, trying to hide his worry. Bull can see it, the moment he realizes how far he’s gone. Even with his staff, it’s not like he can leave again, not unless they let him. 

He unslings the staff and hands it over. Bull nods and takes it. “I’ll be by the stables when you’re done. Come find me. I’ll buy you a drink.”

Dorian raises an eyebrow. “Thank you,” he says finally.

“No problem.”

Bull watches as Dorian looks towards the far end of the Chantry. He tugs his robes straight and throws back his shoulders, then strides the length of the room, all but ignoring the sentry stationed outside. He throws open both doors and walks in like he owns the place.

It’s just getting dark by the time Dorian finds him again. The mage is loaded down with gear, his arms full, scowling.

“I see you met Quartermaster Threnn,” Bull guesses.

Slamming down his gear, Dorian throws his arms in the air. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable, that woman.” He puts his hands on his hips and strides around a bit.

“Lemme guess: she give you a choice between a tent and a prison cell?” Bull nudges at the gear with his foot.

“You cannot honestly tell me there’s not a free bed anywhere in this place?” Dorian fumes, turning back to Bull.

Bull grins, nice and slow. “Well, there is, actually.”

Dorian stops pacing and looks at him. It takes a second, but then he gets it, raising an eyebrow. “An  _ unoccupied  _ bed.”

“Can’t help you,” Bull says. “Come on. You can set up by the Chargers. Safer there for you than in the Village anyhow.” 

Sighing with resignation, Dorian slumps. “Fasta vass. What have I gotten myself into?”

Bull leads him to the clump of tents where his boys sleep. It’s mostly empty now, except Grim, who’s running a whetstone over his sword. He doesn’t even bother to grunt a greeting, just gives an up nod and goes back to his blade.

Bull points past the tents, to a little clearing tucked behind and away from the main fire. “Lemme just grab your staff,” he says, pushing Dorian gently in the right direction. When Bull joins him a few minutes later, it’s clear the man has no idea what to do. He’s got the tent unrolled on the ground and is circling it, trying to work out how to transform the fabric into shelter.

“Not much one for camping, I take it,” Bull grunts, bending down to retrieve the tent. 

“Not... as such,” Dorian admits, and Bull is glad to hear that he’s not trying to bullshit, anyway. “Er, look, you don’t have to....” He waves vaguely.

“Nah, it’s fine. I got it. Hold this,” Bull says, handing him one end of the rope. “Must’ve done a lot of sleeping in the rough if you made it all the way to Redcliffe without a tent. Though I imagine a man as pretty as you doesn’t have much trouble finding a bed for the night,” Bull grins.

He’d meant it to be a flirt, but the way Dorian flinches and swallows hard, Bull realizes he struck a nerve. Dorian's looking down at the rope in his hands, not really seeing it, and his jaw’s working hard. It hits Bull: the man comes from money, but he doesn’t have much right now. He arrived on a turnip wagon, for fuck’s sake. Maybe the man had to trade for a place to sleep, maybe more than once. And magic’s not in high demand down here. A pretty face, though, that's always in worth something. 

Bull’s stomach clenches. “Sorry,” he mumbles. 

The apology gets Dorian to look up, and it takes him a second to focus on Bull’s face, and then he looks away again.  _ Fuck. _ Bull concentrates on getting the tent up. It’s not long before he’s done and Dorian's just kind of... standing there, frowning. Bull can practically see the man’s brain twisting in on itself, the kind of spiral that can happen when you finally stop running and realize where you are. Or what you did to get there. Bull knows how that feels, and dammit if he didn’t make it worse with his shit attempt to flirt.

“Hey,” Bull says. “Hey. Dorian. Come on. Time for that drink I promised you.”

“What?” Dorian sounds confused. He looks up, and he’s distracted enough that he’s got this kind of blank, open look on his face, without any of the contempt or snobbery or cynicism. 

And something in Bull shifts, to see Dorian so unmasked and vulnerable. There’s an instant of need that blasts through Bull. Not for sex, though he wouldn’t turn it down. No, it’s a need to protect, to soothe, like he does for his boys, but multiplied exponentially. As soon as it hits, Bull smothers the desire.  _ Not appropriate.  _ Instead, he repeats himself. “A drink? They have those here, you know. It’s called a ‘tavern’.” Bull jokes. “The finest Ferelden Ale this side of Lake Calenhad. Also the only Ferelden Ale this side of Lake Calenhad.”

“Wonderful,” Dorian grumbles, his disaffected mask back in place. He realizes he’s still holding the rope. “What’s this for?”

“Oh, I just gave you that so you’d have something to do,” Bull shrugs. 

Flissa’s place isn’t as packed as it could be, which is good. Because just about every eye turns when Bull and Dorian walk in, and the level of conversation drops a few decibels. Dorian pauses for a fraction of a second before calmly taking a seat in the corner. 

Bull goes to the bar to get drinks. While Flissa pours, Bull surveys the crowd. Not bad. No one dangerous, no one too drunk. And no Templars. Good. He heads back and sits so that he’s between Dorian and the rest of the room. “So.”

“So,” Dorian says, tilting his head. He takes an experimental sip of the ale. After a moment, he shrugs and takes another.

“I took the liberty of ordering some food. I hope you don’t mind.” Bull leans back, sitting sideways in his chair so that he can see the room and Dorian without swiveling around.

“Is it turnips?” Dorian asks suspiciously. “I may never eat another after this little trip.”

Bull laughs. “Nah. Meat pie tonight.”

“Ah. How delightful,” Dorian sighs. “Thank you. For the drink. It... may be a while before I’m able to return the favor.”

Bull shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. It’s more the Wicked Grace you have to... speak of the devil,” Bull grins, nodding at Varric as he walks in, followed by Evelyn.

“Tiny! You started without me! I’m offended.” Varric holds his hands to his chest. “And if it isn’t Sparkler. The Herald said you’d joined us. Welcome to our little family,” Varric said, pulling out a chair next to Bull.

“Sparkler?” Dorian protested. 

“You get used to it,” Evelyn said, setting down tankards for her and Varric. “I think he’s allergic to proper names.”

“Hey, you write as many novels as I have, you learn to make up names for people. That way, when you inevitably slip them into your stories, there’s no chance of libel.” Varric took a long drink and smacked his lips.

Soon enough Bull and Varric and Evelyn are laughing and joking, relaxed. Dorian doesn’t quite join in wholeheartedly, but he laughs at the right times and keeps up. 

“So. What do you think, Sparkler?” Varric said after an hour.

“I assume you want to know what I think of the Inquisition,” Dorian says. He drains his tankard. “Well I certainly didn’t expect to be drinking beer with a deshyr, a distant cousin, and a Tal-Vashoth mercenary, that's for sure.”

“I’m not Tal-Vashoth,” Bull corrects him.

Dorian's eyes go wide in surprise. “What? But you’re... you’re so....”

“Friendly?” Bull smiles sweetly. “I’ve got special clearance. I’m Ben-Hassrath.”

Dorian jumps back from the table, swearing in Tevene. He’s stumbling over his chair, back against the wall, fist full of lightning. The mood in the room gets tense, fast. 

Bull drains his mug, calm and slow. “Explain it to him, will you, Boss? I gotta get us more drinks.” He gets up and heads to the bar, making a point of being relaxed about the ‘Vint mage panicking in the corner.

By the time he heads back to the table, Dorian's in his chair, though his eyes are a bit wild. “See? Nice and friendly. Here. Have another. You’ve had a rough day.” Bull slides the sloshing tankard across to Dorian.

The mage looks at it like it might be full of poison. He pointedly reaches for Bull’s beer and drinks from that, instead.

Evelyn and Varric glance at each other. Bull just laughs, picks up the pint meant for Dorian, and raises it in toast. 

Dorian doesn’t stay long after that, drinking his beer fast and making excuses. Bull pretends not to notice the sudden chill in the mage’s demeanor. He is a ‘Vint, after all. Dorian's well within his rights to not trust Bull right away. Still, it takes Bull by surprise, which is worrisome. Bull should’ve anticipated this. 

“He’ll come around,” Varric says, after Dorian rushes out.

Bull knows the dwarf aimed the comment at him, but it’s Evelyn that responds. “You think?”

“If Red saw the light, he will too. I mean, I’m such a charming guy,” Bull grins. He finishes his drink and stands. “I am gonna go after him though. Make sure whatever wards he’s no doubt erecting aren’t too close to the other tents.”

Varric laughed. “Good thinking, Tiny.”

Sure enough, Dorian's just putting the finishing touches on what look to be lightning wards, overlapping in a circle all around his tent. He doesn’t look at Bull as he casts the last spell, sealing himself in. 

Bull rolls his shoulders and crosses his arms. And now Dorian does sneak a glance, running his eyes over the Bull’s enormous biceps. After the third glance, Bull stretches his arms up and over his head, flexing the muscles in his chest and stomach. Dorian can’t hide it now; he’s staring. 

Bull snickers, and the sound pulls Dorian up short. “You know, Seeker Cassandra can make those go away, right?”

“It’s not the Seeker I’m worried about,” Dorian says pointedly. The mage turns and lifts the flap of his tent. 

“Hey. Hey, Dorian.” Bull calls out. 

Huffing in annoyance, Dorian glares at him over his shoulder. “What?”

“Don’t let your tootsies get cold.” 


	2. The Tide Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian proves his strength in the Fallow Mire, but not his trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [ravyn_sinclair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravyn_sinclair/pseuds/ravyn_sinclair) for the exceptional art!!

Bull stands at the back of the room, allowing the others to gather closer to the War Table. Cassandra addresses them, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She always looks like she’d rather be swinging a sword than talking.

“After much discussion, it has been decided that the Herald will approach Magister Alexius to finalize the negotiations. It is almost assuredly a trap, but we must secure the cooperation of the mages to close the breach.” Cassandra looks to each of them, her gaze cool.

Leliana takes over the thread of discussion. “We are preparing to move agents into Redcliffe Castle. We require a few weeks to prepare. In the meantime, we have missing troops, captured by Avvar barbarians. The Herald has graciously offered to help locate these soldiers in the Fallow Mire.” She pauses. “We seek volunteers. The Fallow Mire is not a pleasant place. Scouts have reported signs of plague, and the area is rife with undead.”

“I’ll go,” Bull offers. “Getting tired of sitting around.”

“Yeah, me too,” Varric pipes up. “Be good to stretch the legs.”

There is a pause where they all look at each other. Leliana coughs delicately. “It would be best if at least one other mage accompanied the Herald.”

At the derisive snort that Vivienne gives as her refusal, Leliana’s gaze volleys between Solas and Dorian.

“Perhaps the mission team would be better served by one more comfortable with undead than I,” Solas notes.

Dorian throws his hands in the air. “Oh, wonderful! Thank you, Solas, for announcing my magical specialty in front of the Qunari spy. Perhaps we can also get him a list of my allergies and phobias, so he can send that information on as well. After all, we want to make sure the trap they set for me when this is all over is foolproof, right? Don’t want the evil ‘Vint magister to escape once he outlives his usefulness, do we?”

Bull raises his eyebrows, but keeps his mouth shut. Evelyn pulls Dorian to the side of the room, where they exchange a few heated whispers. Dorian's glaring at him, Bull can feel it.

“Well this is awkward,” Varric mutters.

“Varric,” Cassandra warns. “Hush.”

The Herald and Dorian come back to the war table. Dorian clenches his jaw. “I’ll go.” He spits the words out.

“Love you too, ‘Vint,” Bull says, his voice sickly sweet.

There’s a smattering of laughter. “That’s settled, then,” Evelyn says. “We leave tomorrow morning.”

It doesn’t take Bull long to get ready. He’s pretty much always prepared to head out in a hurry. Once he’s packed up, he lounges in front of his tent with Krem, nominally watching the troops as they train. In reality, he’s looking at Dorian. In his peripheral vision, he sees the mage attempt to take down his tent. He’s mucking it up pretty good. Bull lets him get things good and tangled before walking over. “Need a little help, sweetheart?”

Dorian glares at him and says nothing.

Bull watches for another minute, arms crossed. Finally, he snorts. “You _are_ planning to put that tent back up at some point, right?”

Frowning, Dorian fumbles with the ropes, jamming them into a ball. Bull shakes his horns and walks over.

“The wards!” Dorian hisses, holding a hand up. Bull’s watching his face closely. Dorian looks genuinely concerned that Bull’s walking into his spell. Good. That means that despite his distrust, he’s not out to actively harm Bull. And Bull can work with that. Knowing where he stands makes the shock that's about to hit worth it.

Because _shit_ does it hurt. Still, Bull keeps his feet as the charge jolts through him. And then he steps forward.

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian whispers, eyes wide.

“Yeah, see, next time you might want to try fire,” Bull says. He shakes himself, to show it affected him. Wouldn’t be good to scare the guy _too_ much. “Damn, Dorian, you pack a punch though. I’ll be feeling that for a bit.”

“You should be unconscious,” Dorian frowns. The fear has drained away, and curiosity taken its place. “Why are you still standing? I demand you tell me at once.”

“And give up all my secrets? So that your ‘Vint friends can lay a better trap for me once this is all over?” Bull grins.

Dorian's eyes narrow. “If you think I have many friends left in Tevinter, you’re sadly mistaken.” He spits the words out, the anger deep and old.

“Well then. You best make some friends, Dorian Pavus.” Bull leans down and begins untangling the ropes, looping them over his forearm neatly.

Dorian throws up his hands, muttering curses in Tevene.

“It’s the boots,” Bull says after a moment.

“What?”

“My boots. The soles are treated with this tree root extract I got in Par Vollen. It repels lightning.” Bull holds up one foot.

“Oh,” Dorian says. He takes the rolled up tent and ropes from Bull, but he doesn’t go anywhere. He just stands there for a minute. “Do you... have more? We might need it in the Fallow Mire. I hear it’s wet. I’d rather not electrocute the Herald or Varric.”

“Yeah, I got more,” Bull says. He’d already been planning to share it, but no harm in letting Dorian think he came up with the idea. “What about you? You want some?”

Dorian scoffs. “I haven’t shocked myself since I was nine years old.”

“Oh no? Not even on purpose? I hear it feels _real_ good in some places.” Bull leers.

Seeing the blush on Dorian's cheeks might just be the highlight of Bull’s day.

***

Whoever named the Fallow Mire had a serious understatement problem, Bull decides as they ride up to the forward camp. The place is, quite frankly, a fucking shithole.

Dorian apparently agrees. “Fields of mud. Ugh.”

“You worried about getting those pretty robes all dirty?” Bull snorts.

Dorian rolls his eyes and grumbles. It gets a laugh from the dwarf scout Harding. She’s the same one that he saw on his way out of the Storm Coast. “They really got you going all over the place, don’t they?” Bull smiles. He fights the urge to reach down and pat her cute little head.

“That’s me,” she says, laughing weakly. “Maybe the next place’ll be dry, at least. Or not busting out with corpses.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Bull cautions. “You ever been to the Hissing Wastes?”

“Ooh, I hear it’s crawling with Lurkers and Varghests,” Evelyn says, her eyes lighting up. Bull’s getting the impression that zoology was the woman’s favorite subject in the Circle.

“Great,” Harding says. “Well. Have fun looking for the Avvar. And stay out of the water. That's where the corpses are.”

Bull tilts his head as she walks away, watching her wee little body slip into the main tent.

Varric shakes his head. “Size differential aside, I’m pretty sure she’s not interested in us manly men, Tiny.”

Bull shrugs. “I can’t help it. She’s just so cute. It’s the red hair. And the freckles. I just wanna put her in my mouth.”

Evelyn gives a throaty hum of agreement and walks away, a knowing smile on her face.

Dorian just rolls his eyes harder.

Varric sighed. “You guys are making me miss Hawke.”

It’s a gruesome slog. There’s a road, sorta, with rickety bridges that inevitably collapse under Bull’s weight. This of course wakes up the damn corpses, slimy bastards. Bull discovers that the bloated bodies have a tendency to explode when he hits them, and soon he’s covered in black gunk.

They make camp for the night, huddled in one of the abandoned plague houses. There’s enough roof to keep them dry, and they can build a fire. Evelyn purifies a barrel of rainwater, enough for them to wash in.

Dorian seems miserable, and not just from the weather. He keeps getting distracted, making people repeat themselves, before answering in a single syllable or two and going back to brooding.

Varric and Evelyn exchange a worried glance or two, and then the Herald goes over and sits with Dorian. They have a quiet conversation, and Evelyn puts her hand on his shoulder several times.

“What’s that about, you think?” Varric said, keeping his voice low.

Bull glances over. “A mage thing, maybe? He’s a necromancer and we’re surrounded by corpses. I read once that they make some kinda noise or something that only necromancers can sense. Gotta be distracting when there’s so many.”

Varric grunts, going over his crossbow with a rag to sop up any stray oil.

It takes a couple more days, but they finally reach the gates to the busted-out fort where the Avvar are holed up. And of course it's surrounded by an army of undead. The party crouches behind an overturned wagon, weighing their options.

“Shit,” Varric hisses.

“Ideas?” Evelyn asks, her voice tight.

“How many fire grenades you got left?” Bull grunts.

“Just one, and I don't want to risk throwing it into a puddle.”

“I can take down a couple dozen, but if they fall in the water, we’ll have twice as many on our hands,” Varric griped.

Dorian concentrates for a second, his gaze fading to the middle distance. “I can pull in reinforcements.”

Bull snorts. “Dorian, there’s a hundred or more undead between us and those gates. We’d need at least two dozen of our own for a wedge big enough to punch through. No way you can handle that many.”

Dorian raises an eyebrow and stares at Bull, a challenge in that gaze. “Well then. That’ll take me down, and two of your problems will be solved. Cover me, if you would, Herald.”

Dorian stands and Evelyn throws up a barrier against the projectiles coming from the undead archers. He closes his eyes and spreads his arms in welcome. Pure power wreaths around him, a spire of cold violet flame that shoots straight up into the clouds.

“Holy shit,” Bull breathes. He’s not sure he’s ever seen a human look so deadly and beautiful.

And then Dorian slams his arms down, and the power explodes out in a silent shockwave. It’s enormous, easily an eighth of a mile radius.

The energy is gone, but now Dorian's concentrating, hard. “Get ready,” he warns, his jaw clenched so the cords stand out on his neck. “They’re coming.”

The swamp around them begins to boil. At least, that's what it seems like. Bodies shamble out of the muck, one after another after another. Even after they get the number they need, the undead keep coming.

“You can stop now,” Bull says, raising an eyebrow.

“Not how it works. All or nothing.” Dorian grits his teeth. “Move, dammit. I can’t do this all day.”

They form into a wedge. It’s the slowest advance Bull’s ever been part of, and also the most disgusting. The stench makes his eye water. But Dorian's undead slice through, and if it’s slow, it’s also efficient, new bodies pushing forward from the middle as the ones in front engage.

They close in on the gates, and Varric and Evelyn run ahead. Bull can see a handful of Avvar inside, frantically rushing to defend themselves against the deadly combination of Bianca’s bolts and Evelyn’s fireballs.

Bull sticks close to Dorian, just inside the gates. His undead have closed up in a ring around the outside.

“They need to hurry,” Dorian says, and his voice is slurred.

Bull looks closer. The mage’s tawny skin is definitely going a little grey, and he’s barely keeping his feet. “Anytime, Varric!” Bull shouts.

The gates shudder to life, chains rattling. “All right, Dorian. You’re clear.” Bull says, squinting up at the mechanism. Outside, Dorian's undead crumple to the ground en masse.

There’s a sound of fabric slithering as Dorian slowly begins to topple. Bull lunges, catching Dorian by the shoulders. His eyes are unfocused and it looks like he's having trouble keeping them open. He falls forward, slumping into Bull's chest.  

“Hey. Hey, Dorian,” Bull murmurs. “You in there?”

“Wha? I'm tired,” he whines, burying his face into Bull's neck. “So tired.”

Evelyn’s runs up beside them. She pops the cork on a lyrium potion. “He needs to drink this.” She sounds worried.

Bull pries the man away enough to let Evelyn put the bottle up to his mouth.

Dorian splutters but gets most of it down. Evelyn relaxes. “He should be fine, but he cut it close.”

The mage slumps forward on to Bull's chest again.

“Define ‘fine’,” Bull frowns, prodding the unresponsive man in the shoulder with one finger. Dorian grunts and attempts to swat Bull away. All that he accomplishes is flailing his hand weakly, though.

“What would've happened?” Varric asks.

“He'd have fallen asleep. Being in the Fade with no mana reserves is a prime recipe for possession.” Evelyn notes.

“Not... to worry.” Dorian's voice is weak and yet somehow still snippy and sarcastic. “Very strong.... ” The last few words slur into a snore.

It's pretty fucking cute, if you ask Bull. “We safe for the time being? Looks like this one needs to rest,” Bull whispers. He scoops Dorian into a bridal carry.

“We're good,” Varric confirms. “I locked the gates. No one gets in or out without my help.”

“It's getting late anyhow. I saw some cots in the guard tower. We'll stay the night. I hate the delay, but we need to be full strength. Maker only knows how many Avvar are waiting for us.” Evelyn rises to her feet. “My turn to cook tonight, is it?”

Bull carries Dorian up the steps and into the tower. When he tries to put the mage into a cot, he fusses like a baby, curling himself into Bull's chest and clutching his hands around Bull’s harness. “Warm. Need warm.”

“Looks like you've got a friend.” Varric notes.

“You know, some animals imprint themselves onto other species when they’re orphaned,” Evelyn notes. “Ducks, for example. I saw a duckling imprint itself on a mabari when I was a child. Thought the dog was his mother.”

“Just to be clear, you're the mabari in this scenario,” Varric points out to Bull.

“Why don't you go polish your girlfriend?” Bull whispers. He eases himself on to the cot, arranging Dorian's sleeping body on top. “And save me some dinner.”

Bull can feel the adrenaline from the battle seeping away, so he concentrates on steadying his breathing. Soon enough Dorian’ll be in a deeper sleep and Bull can get out from under him. Only problem is, he doesn’t _want_ to move. He wants to stay right where he is, with this shallow, conceited, distrustful ‘Vint curled up on his chest. A ‘Vint that's starting to drool slightly.

The reaction is completely inappropriate, and Bull knows it. He takes a step back, observes himself and this emotion, allowing the feeling to exist but not inhabiting it. Bull glances down at Dorian again. The man fidgets, trying to get comfortable. His lips are still parted and holy hell do they look delicious, adding a layer of heat to this already-heady concoction of _wrong._ Bull swallows back a bunch of choice curses in Qunlat.

It’s fine. This might be the last thing he needs, but it’s fine. The re-educators might not have been able to turn him into a mindless weapon for the Qun, but they did teach him how to deal with shit like this. Maybe they did too good a job, allowing him to retain more of himself than he let on. Or maybe that was the plan all along. Bull has spent an awful lot of time trying to figure that one out.

He sighs, the exhale turning into a yawn. Might as well get some rest while he can. Fuck it, he thinks as he drifts off.

It’s just getting dark by the time he wakes up, though there’s a fire near the open door to the guard room. Bull hears Varric murmuring and then Evelyn’s laugh, but the noise isn’t what woke him up.

No, what woke him up was Dorian, still sleeping and now clearly dreaming. At some point Dorian had rolled to his stomach and was draped in a half-straddle across Bull’s chest. Dorian is frowning in his sleep, his face twitching, the moustache tickling Bull’s breastbone. And there’s little sounds coming from his mouth, almost-grunts of pain or fear or something else.

Bull’s just about to shake him awake when Dorian starts rolling his hips. Bull freezes, forces his body not to react, and it is much, much more difficult than it should be. Doesn’t help that Dorian's getting hard, rubbing himself up and down, grinding against Bull.

It’s the sounds coming from the man’s mouth that manage to rip Bull’s attention away from the unconscious lap dance. It’s quiet at first, but after a few seconds, Bull can make it out. Dorian's muttering _no_ and _stop_ and _I won’t,_ and the grimace on his face goes along with the words. Whatever he’s dreaming about, it’s not a happy thing.

“Dorian. Hey. C’mon, wake up.” Bull says, prodding him in the shoulder with one finger. “Dorian, c’mon.”

The words are getting more distinct, and louder, and the motion of Dorian's hips increases in speed as well.

“Hey,” Bull says, full voice, now shaking Dorian pretty firmly. “Dorian. Wake up.”  He could just stand up and dump the guy from his lap, but something tells him jolting a mage from sleep isn’t a good idea for Bull’s health.

He tries lightly patting Dorian's cheek. Not a slap, just a pat. Dorian's moving a lot now, the motion sinuous and, under other circumstances, hot as fuck.

With the noise they’re making, Evelyn rushes in, followed by Varric. Bull holds out his hands to indicate he’s not doing anything to egg the man on.

The Herald kneels beside the bed. “Andraste’s ass,” she mutters. “I’d bet anything he’s fighting a desire demon right now.”

“Shit. What do we do?” Varric takes a step back. “Can’t we wake him up? Throw water on him or something?”

“Not a good idea. Demons are pretty good at taking advantage of the few seconds it takes to come around when we get woken up violently. All we can really do is hope he wins.” Evelyn stands up and also takes a step back. “He loses, he either wakes up possessed or Tranquil.”

Bull can feel Dorian's erection scraping away, and his own body’s starting to ignore his efforts to stay uninterested. He tries a few times to get up, hoping to at least put Dorian on the bed, but the mage clutches at him. Bull sighs. “Can he hear me?”

Evelyn shrugs. “Some people can, some can’t.”

“Listen, ‘Vint. This is The Iron Bull. You better finish up with that damn demon soon. Come on. I thought you were strong, big guy.” Bull growls the words directly into Dorian's ear.

Dorian shudders even as he continues to writhe, and Bull really wishes he didn’t have an audience right now. It feels wrong that anyone’s seeing this, even him. “Evelyn. Grab my axe, will ya?” Bull says. “If this pretty boy can’t handle his demon, I’m gonna have to take care of it.”

Evelyn looks horrified, and Bull gives her a look to indicate he’s not serious. “Good point. Varric, get Bianca. We might need some backup.” She manages to sound like she means it, even if she’s cringing.

Dorian's silent, now, his lips drawn and tight, his eyes fluttering beneath the lids. He clutches at Bull, and his muscles start to tense up. Bull’s eye gets wide, and he frantically waves Evelyn and Varric out of the room.

“But, what if he - ” Evelyn stays to protest.

“I can handle it. You'll know if i need help. Now get the fuck outside.” Bull hisses.

They scamper away, waiting just outside the door as Dorian begins to make a sound, halfway between a growl and a whine.

“C’mon, Dorian. You got this,” Bull whispers. “You’re strong as fuck. You got this.”

His hips begin to lose rhythm, and Bull knows he’s hit the edge. Does that mean he’s lost? Fucking demons, Bull thinks, and even through his rising panic, he laughs at how appropriate that sentiment really is.

“I... won't... submit!” Dorian gasps through his orgasm. There’s a flash of fire all around him. Well, it looks like fire, but it’s not hot. And then Dorian's awake and quivering on Bull’s chest. “Vishante kaffas,” he whispers. His eyes dart around. “Oh, for the love of - what the hell am I doing here?”

Bull laughs with relief. “Check your pants, stud.”

Dorian winces, shoving himself up to arm’s length. Evelyn rushes back in, a ball of fire in her hand. Varric’s got his crossbow at the ready too.

“He’s fine,” Bull says.

“You sure?” Evelyn’s voice is steady. Damn, she’s turning into an amazing leader. Bull has no doubt she would cut the mage down.

Before Bull can answer her, Dorian snaps. “Yes, fine, really, and next time I expend all of my mana saving your sorry hides, the least you can do is leave me alone in a bed, not draped over the Qunari spy like a fennec stole.”

Varric laughs and holsters his weapon. “Yep. He’s fine. Nice to have you back, Sparkler.”

“What happened?” Evelyn said.

“Uh, can you maybe give him a minute?” Bull coughs.

Dorian rolls his eyes.

“What? Oh. _Ohhhh.”_ Evelyn nods and backs out of the room.

Dorian rolls off the cot and crumples to the floor. Bull immediately reaches down to help, but Dorian slaps his hand away. “I’m fine. Just leave me alone, will you?”

Bull blinks. The words burn in a way they most certainly should not. Once again, he takes a mental step back, observing the emotion, cataloguing it, allowing it to exist without letting it rule him.

“Up to you, big guy.” Bull forces a nonchalant shrug and makes his way out. Right up until he closes the door behind him, he expects Dorian to apologize. But it doesn’t happen, and the mage’s words burn just a little deeper, burrowing into him.

When the man does stagger out of the guardroom a bit later, looking somewhat worse for the wear, he sinks cross-legged in front of the fire. Evelyn hands him a bowl of stew, clearly anticipating his hunger, because Dorian demolishes the food like he hasn’t eaten in three days.

He’s finishing up his second helping when Evelyn speaks. “What happened?” Her voice is warm, concerned, but it’s clear she expects an answer.

“Desire demons. Veil’s thin here. My heroics drew quite a crowd.” Dorian laughs, but it’s bitter. “Please tell me there’s wine.” He rests his forehead in his hand.

“Demons? As in, plural?” Varric blinks. “Shit, Sparkler. How did you fight them off?”

Dorian's eyes dart to the side, towards Bull. “I told you,” he says. “I’m very strong.”

“How many?” Evelyn’s voice is shaking.

Dorian swallows hard. “Three.”

The Herald leaps to her feet and paces away, a fist stuffed into her mouth. Bull’s never seen her so upset. He gets up and roots through the supply chest, finds a dusty bottle. Bull uncorks it with his teeth and smells it, then takes a swig. Burns like hell, but it’s not poison. He hands it to Dorian.

The mage doesn’t quite look at him, frowning at the proffered bottle before swiping it out of Bull’s hands. He takes a long drink, wincing.

Every fiber of Bull’s being wants to comfort him. But he can’t. The man still thinks Bull’s gonna knife him in his sleep; showing too much concern will make him even more suspicious. Instead, Bull turns and goes to find Evelyn.

“You all right?” It’s a stupid question; she’s obviously not all right.

“He almost killed himself. Just so we could get a few soldiers that may or may not even be alive. And I was ready to kill him. Bull. I’m not cut out for this.” She shakes her head, and the motion makes the tears in her eyes sparkle in the moonlight.

“The day it gets easier, that's the day you’ve lost yourself,” Bull says.

Evelyn grimaces, then takes a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. She nods. “Thanks, Bull.”

“Anytime, Boss.”

She turns and heads back to the firelight. Bull wants to follow, but heads into the guardroom instead. It still smells vaguely of sex. Bull lays awake, not really thinking, not really feeling, just breathing like the tides, in and out, in and out.

 

 


	3. The Sun and the Stars Will Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the Fallow Mire, and the fallout from Redcliffe.

Bull feigns sleep when the door to the guardroom opens later, not wanting to talk to Varric. But it isn’t Varric, or Evelyn. The unsteady steps are accompanied by the telltale jingling of the buckles on Dorian's robes.

Bull keeps his breath slow and steady. The door shuts, and through his eyelid Bull senses a light. Probably one of those mage wisps. He hears Dorian walk up to him, smelling the booze. 

“Fucking Qunari,” Dorian hisses. Bull hears the buckles jingling, and then clothing dropping to the floor. “Fucking Qunari, saving me from the fucking demons. Me. Dorian Pavus.” So he  _ had  _ heard Bull. And apparently it had helped. 

There’s a pressure on the sides of the cot, and Bull feels the mage’s hands land on either side of his head, the heat of the man’s body a few inches over him. Bull can feel from the friction on his legs that Dorian's still wearing some sort of breeches, at least.

He wouldn’t be much of a spy if he couldn’t convince a drunkard he was asleep, so Bull shifts a bit, like he’s getting more comfortable, and resumes letting the breath escape his lips with a soft puff. 

“I don’t need saving,” Dorian whispers, and his voice is thick. “I don’t need saving.” 

_ Oh, you may not need it, but you sure as shit want it.  _ Bull lets the thought flit past. The real question is, what is Bull gonna do with a drunk ‘Vint crawling on him?

The question becomes more pressing, literally, when Dorian sinks down to straddle Bull. Now Bull can feel the expanse of skin across his chest, feel it sliding against him. There’s a change in the light in the room; Dorian probably put out the wisp. And the ‘Vint is writhing on top of him, leaving trails of sloppy kisses along Bull’s chest and shoulder. 

Damn. He needs to ‘wake up’, end this. It’s wrong on more levels than Bull can currently count. Though to be fair, he can’t count very high at the moment, given that a large portion of his brain is working on cataloging every sensation, every swipe of tongue, trace of finger.

Problem is, Bull guesses Dorian's drunk, but not so drunk he won’t remember this in the morning. If Bull ‘wakes up’ now, Dorian will have no way to deny it ever happened. Bull’s trying to decide why that matters to him so much when Dorian makes this little grumbly groan and lays still. 

Still feigning sleep, Bull shifts his weight, bringing an arm down across Dorian's back. He mumbles a bit for good measure. Dorian freezes for a moment, but when Bull doesn’t move again, he relaxes, nestling against Bull. The mage is asleep within a minute, snoring slightly. 

Next morning, Bull isn’t even a little surprised when Dorian is gone, laying in the other cot, fully clothed, his back turned on Bull for good measure. He’s not sleeping, Bull knows it. The man’s not nearly as skilled as Bull is at pretending. Still, Bull goes along with it, yawning and stretching and then making his way out of the room quietly.

First thing he does after taking a piss is to grab his axe. He’d cut down a few undead the previous afternoon but hadn’t gotten around to cleaning the blade. 

He sits by the embers of the fire, patiently scraping the dried gunk away, then oiling and sharpening the blade. Dorian comes out a few minutes later, stretching theatrically.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” Bull says. “You ok? That was a heap of shit you saved us from yesterday. You get enough rest?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Dorian snaps. He shuts his eyes and huffs in frustration. “Thank you,” he adds, with extreme reluctance.

“Aw, lookit you, making friends,” Bull grins.

“Just because I refuse to be rude doesn’t mean I - oh. Good morning, Herald.” Dorian tilts his head as Evelyn emerges from the other guard chamber.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” Dorian says again, and now he sounds like he means it.

“Good. I’m officially relegating you to barrier duty later, though. Let us handle the Avvar. You’ve done enough.” Evelyn smiles, and Bull sees it land when Dorian's lips curl in response. 

He bows. “As you say, oh wise Herald of Andraste,” Dorian says with an extravagant bow.

Bull laughs and runs the whetstone over his blade.

After yesterday’s battle, defeating the Avvar chief’s son seems like child’s play. Evelyn somehow charms one of the Avvar into becoming an agent, and the missing troops are released. 

The journey back is relatively peaceful. They only have to close three rifts, and defend themselves against two bandit hordes. Piece of cake.

Bull throws barbs back and forth with Dorian. First Dorian wants to know if Bull’s gonna sew his mouth shut. Then Bull makes a joke about Dorian polishing his staff. Dorian complains about Bull needing to bathe.

And then Dorian's glaring at him for no reason, and Bull calls him on it. Dorian calls him a beast of burden, only looking for conquest. Before Bull realizes what he’s doing, he’s stalking up to Dorian. “That's right. These big, muscled hands could tear those robes off while you struggled, helpless in my grip. I'd pin you down, and as you gripped my horns, I would  _ conquer _ you.” He’s breathing heavy by the end, even as he realizes what he’s saying.

Dorian's eyes have gone very, very wide, and he’s standing motionless. He looks scared, but not scared of Bull. His mouth opens but nothing comes out.

Bull feels Evelyn and Varric staring at him. “Oh, uh... is that not where we’re going with this?” It’s a lame, weak excuse for a joke, and he’s kicking himself for losing control of his words.

“No,” Dorian says, his eyes still wide. He blinks a few times, then frowns. “No, it was very much  _ not.”  _

There’s an awkward pause, then the conversation moves on, Varric starting up a story about some of his Kirkwall buddies.

It’s not till they’re back in Haven when Evelyn pulls Bull aside. “Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on Dorian? You don’t tease the rest of us that way.”

Bull sighs. “Look. I can read people pretty well. He still doesn’t trust me. If I start sweet-talking him, he’ll think it’s a Ben-Hassrath trick. He needs me to be a big, crude ox-man. Otherwise he’ll think I’m somehow controlling this whole thing. And all that's important is that he trusts  you.” 

Evelyn raises her eyebrows in appreciation. “Very nuanced, Bull. You don’t think he’ll suspect that?”

“What, the whole ‘he knows that I know that he knows’ thing? Nah. He’s used to believing he’s the smartest person in any room, and he’s probably almost always right. He is smarter than me, after all.”

“You sure about that?” Evelyn laughs.

“Yeah. I’m just good at seeing things.” Bull shrugs.

“Glad I didn’t meet you when you had two eyes, then,” Evelyn grins. “I’d hate for you to know what color smalls I’m wearing.”

Bull laughs and claps her on the shoulder. He leans down. “I’m guessing the green ones.”

“How did you know that?” She blushes scarlet.

“Because you look good in green; brings out your eyes. And we just rode back into Haven, where there’s a certain lonely Grey Warden hanging around. And if that lonely Warden ever got his fucking act together and made a move, maybe he’d get to see them himself.” Bull says.

“What? All that?” Evelyn marvels.

“Nah, I saw ‘em when you bent over,” Bull admits. 

Evelyn doesn’t punch him in the arm as hard as she could, which is nice of her.

There’s a debrief in the war room later that day. They’re heading back to Redcliffe in four days, the same party. Josephine reasons that Bull and Varric will be more likely to be admitted to the audience with Alexius because they were with Evelyn at the first meeting; maybe she can pass them off as attaches or something.

“Shit, if I’d known, I would’ve stayed here, gotten some rest,” Varric grumbles.

Bull spends the next four days assiduously avoiding Dorian. Partially because it’s what the mage wants -- he’s moved his tent to the clearing behind the apothecary’s cottage, and spends his time helping to brew potions. Dorian does, however, make frequent trips into the snow-covered fields surrounding Haven to gather elfroot, and passes by Bull’s tent each time.

It’s not for Dorian's sake that Bull stays away -- it’s for himself. It’s the world’s worst-kept secret that Bull’s a big ol’ softie when it comes to his boys. He’s a hardass when he needs to be, but he’s always sure they have what they need, and not just gear. Bull’s gotten to know each of them, knows what kind of support they value best, whether it’s a gruff pat on the back for Grim, a silent drinking buddy for Krem, or a body to hug when Skinner’s nightmares are so bad she can’t stop shaking. 

But the desire he felt to comfort Dorian goes way beyond that. He  wants  it, and that's bad. There’s no room in the Qun for what he wants. If it was solely a physical need, like sex? Sure, that's fine. Get it out of his system. But this is more, a deep hunger, as powerful as his bloodlust and a thousand times more frightening for what it might become.

There’s no point in feeding that hunger, so he stays away. He’ll need to keep taunting the mage. Dorian expects it, after all. As long as he doesn’t lose control again, start talking about ripping off the mage’s robes, feeling that tight body straining under him and over him, hearing that voice crying out not in fear, but in lust, in want, in desire.

_ Fuck . _ He’s thinking about it again. Bull unclenches his fists, takes a few deep breaths. Of course Dorian takes that moment to walk by, head down, steps quick. But those gray eyes dart to the side just like they always do, looking at Bull before squeezing shut tight, the almost imperceptible shake of the head to convince himself of something, and then he’s gone. 

***

When the time comes to actually leave Haven, Leliana decides to send Dorian in a separate party, heavily disguised, traveling a different route and leaving a day early. Her agents will sneak him into the castle to join the Herald when she confronts Alexius. 

Bull sees him saddling his horse as he readies for the journey. It’s odd, seeing the mage in the bland scout’s uniform. It’s obvious Dorian's not cut out for undercover work. Even dressed identically as the others, he stands out: his posture, the elegance of his movements, the flash in his eyes.

When Dorian catches his glance, Bull saunters up. “Hey. Hey, Dorian.”

“Fasta vass,  _ what?!?”  _ The mage leaves off tightening the strap on his saddle and wheels around on Bull.

“Whoa,” Bull says, holding up his hands. “I was just gonna tell you to be careful.”

Dorian frowns. “Why?”

For the first time in his life, Bull doesn’t have an answer. Hell, usually he’s got several, all queued up and ready for any contingency. But for the first time in his remembrance, he doesn’t know.

Dorian might as well have poleaxed him. Bull’s standing there, mouth open for words that won’t come, because there are none. Dorian turns back to his saddle, grumbling under his breath, and after a few seconds, Bull turns and walks away.

“What the hell was that about?” Krem asks from his usual spot.

“I have no idea,” Bull replies, which is both true and not true at the same time. “Come on. Spar with me,” Bull says. “No telling if I’ll be coming back from this mage shitshow.”

Krem laughs as he grabs his shield and sword. “You think there’s a mage alive who can take down the Iron Bull?”

Bull tries hard not to think that maybe yeah, there is.

***

Bull’s got a good nose for traps, but even a deaf, dumb, and blind guy would know that Redcliffe Castle is rigged from the get-go. There might as well be a big glowing sign that says “Enter Trap Here” over the gate. And of course the fucking magister is sitting on the damn throne like he owns the place.

Evelyn charms the ‘steward’ into letting Varric and Bull approach Alexius. His son is there, and even in the warm light from the fire, the kid looks wan.

It goes pretty much exactly according to plan. Dorian emerges from the shadows, and he and Felix confront Alexius. Leliana’s people start slitting throats right on cue.

The only thing that doesn’t go according to plan is when Alexius hurls an amulet at Evelyn and Dorian. There’s a flash and a shockwave, and when Bull makes it back to his feet, there’s a burn mark on the flagstone. Evelyn and Dorian are gone. 

Bull’s senses go into slow-motion as he drinks in every tiny detail. The look of satisfaction on Alexius’ face. The way the mage reaches for his staff. Bull calculates whether he can throw his axe fast enough to hit Alexius before he has a chance to cast again. It’s risky, might leave him disarmed, but Varric’s still reaching for his crossbow. 

He’s just about to hurl the axe when there’s another flash, and Evelyn and Dorian are standing where they were, covered in gore and minor wounds, breathing hard.

Alexius just sinks to his knees. Dorian's saying some stuff about time and the Elder One, and then the fucking King shows up. Evelyn offers the mages partnership in the Inquisition and Alexius is carted away. 

“Shit. I didn’t even get to hit anything,” Bull mutters to Varric.

“Yeah, what the hell just happened? They disappeared, right? I’m not seeing things?” Varric looked around in confusion.

“Nope. They did.” Bull confirms. Evelyn’s talking to Fiona and the King, and Dorian's talking to Felix. They hug, the kind of embrace you give someone you never expect to see again. The kind of embrace Bull had wanted to give Dorian in the Fallow Mire.  _ Well at least he has somebody.  _

Evelyn doesn’t want to stick around. After a brief rest to clean up and heal, she orders them to saddle back up for Haven.

On the way, she explains about the time magic, the missing year, the hellhole the world had become.

Bull and Varric look at each other. No one wants to be the asshole that questions the Herald, but the story was pretty unbelievable.

“That sounds intense,” Varric ventures at last.

“It was. Everyone made... valiant sacrifices,” Evelyn says, glancing at Dorian. 

There was a whole lot of something in that look, but Bull lets it lie. Whatever those two saw, they need time to process. 

They stop for the night at an Inquisition camp. Bull’s putting his bags into a tent when Dorian marches up to him. The mage straightens his shoulders. “Bull. I’m sorry. For how I acted before I left. That was uncalled for.”

Bull frowns and leans away from Dorian. “What?”

“You were showing concern for a comrade, and I was an ass. I apologize.”

“Oooo...kay?” 

Dorian huffs, putting his hands on his hips. “Just accept the damn apology, you great brute.”

Bull laughs, and Dorian throws his hands up in the air and stalks off, muttering.

Later on, Bull drags Evelyn to the side. “How you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” she says. “It wasn’t easy, but in a way, seeing what we’re really fighting for helped.”

Bull nods. “Good. Did something happen to Dorian? He said something kinda funny before.”

“How so?”

Bull shrugs. “He apologized for being a prissy ‘Vint, essentially.”

Evelyn chuckles. “Look. We both... saw some stuff. You and Varric, Leliana.... I don’t want to go into details. Even though none of that actually happened -”

“It  _ could  _ happen,” Bull finishes the thought. “And you don’t wanna make us second-guess ourselves by telling us what we did.”

“Exactly,” she says, relieved. “I’m glad you understand.”

“I don’t really -- I’m just good at pretending,” Bull grins.

“Same difference. You think I’m not making this up as I go along?” Evelyn laughs.

“That’s why I like you, boss.”

 


	4. Deception Flows Deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fall of Haven, the rise of Skyhold, and it's back to the beginning for Bull and Dorian.

Whatever Bull did in the alternate future, it seems to have earned a begrudging respect from Dorian. The man no longer avoids him, although he’s not seeking Bull out by any stretch. But he doesn’t turn tail and walk out if Bull’s at the tavern, and he actually stops by the tents to drop off some potions for Stitches.

It’s a relief, and Bull hates that it’s a relief. Because that means he didn’t put it behind him, whatever _it_ is. It feels foreign, like an infection. Still. They’ve got the mages. Once the Breach is sealed, it’ll all be over, and he and the Chargers will move on, and Bull won’t have to think about it any more.

And then Evelyn saves the world by waving, basically. Okay, so there was a bit more to it than that. Still, it’s over. The Breach is sealed.  Bull thinks the victory celebration that night might be a good time to bust out the maraas-lok.

Bull’s heading to his tent to grab the bottle of the good stuff when chaos erupts all around. Haven is under attack.

It’s a blur, after that. This wasn’t a siege; it was a slaughter. Somehow that old Chantry guy manages to point them in the direction of an escape route. Not much of an escape, Bull thinks. Wandering in the mountains till they freeze or starve? Bull would rather die fighting. But it’s not his call, so he follows Cullen and the others.

And then the news hits: Evelyn held off this Elder One. Solas and Sera and Blackwall were with her, until she ordered them away. She set off an avalanche, saving their asses. And sacrificing her own.

It’s the second day of their march to nowhere. Dorian's walking a ways ahead, cloak pulled tight against the cold. He turns and looks back, shading his eyes from the swirling snow. Bull trudges up beside him.

The mage shakes his head. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Bull says, because what else can you say.

Dorian looks pained, and Bull realizes Evelyn was really his only friend here. Without her, there’s no buffer between Leliana’s cutthroat tactics or Josephine’s political scheming or Cullen's barely suppressed distrust of mages. It’s not likely Dorian would have much place in any Inquisition those three head up. Not without an ally.

“Hey. Hey. You’ll be all right,” Bull says.

Dorian stiffens. “I don’t need -”

“I know, I know. You don’t need saving.” Bull sighs and rubs at the base of his horns. He must be tired, or the cold must be getting to him. He’d promised himself he’d never tell Dorian he was awake that night in the Fallow Mire, and here he’d gone and done it.

“You... you were awake the whole time!” Dorian accuses, coming to a halt.

Bull shrugs and keeps trudging. He’s caught, and he knows it. Well, there goes any chance of Dorian trusting him ever again.

After a few seconds, Dorian trots up. “No. You don’t get to walk away from this. Why didn’t you tell me? How could you let me make a fool of myself?”

Bull’s had enough. He stops and turns to the mage. “Look. You’d just saved our lives and all you got in thanks was to be attacked by fucking demons in your fucking sleep. I just wanted to make it better. If I thought that pretending to wake up would’ve helped you, I’d’ve done it in a second. But it would’ve just made it worse. I know you didn’t want me to see you like that. So yeah. I lied. I do that. Ben-Hassrath, remember?”

 _I’m lying right now,_ Bull thinks. _Because that's not the only reason I didn’t push you away._

Dorian's staring at him like he’s grown a second set of horns. “You... were trying to help?”

“Of _course_ I was fucking trying to help!” Bull shouts. People are starting to stare. He shakes his head and keeps walking.

Dorian catches up to him again, actually pulling his arm to get him to stop, which Bull does. Whatever the mage was going to say, it gets lost in the confusion, as someone spots a pale green light trailing behind them.

***

It’s a good place, Skyhold. Bull can see it right away. Hell, anyone can see it. The fortress has good bones, a defensible position, and best of all, it's still basically a secret. Assuming there’s no other weird elf apostates floating around. Maybe this is where they hang out, who knows.

There’s a bit of a free-for-all when they first arrive. The Inner Circle, as Evelyn and her companions have come to be called, are given free reign to choose quarters for themselves. Pretty much every place is a ruin at this point, so they gravitate to points close to their areas of expertise. Cassandra hauls a bedroll to the armory, Blackwall sets up in the stables, and Bull decides to take a room at the top of what’ll definitely become the tavern.

It’s a tactical move: it gives him an excuse to hang out in the tavern, which is the best place to pick up information. And the room has three exits, two of which dump out on the battlements, so if there’s any action, he can get to it in a hurry.

After a couple weeks, things start to settle down. Pretty much all of the little people are focused on rebuilding, and it’s knitting the Inquisition together tighter than ever. Evelyn’s now the Inquisitor, and about damn time.

Bull’s climbing the steps to Leliana’s desk in the top floor of the rotunda when he catches a familiar glint of metal, polished to mirror-sheen on the tip of a stylish boot. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding,” he says, walking up to Dorian. The mage is tucked into an overstuffed chair nestled between two groaning bookshelves, nose-deep in a book.

“I’m not hiding,” Dorian notes. “I’m a mage. This -” he waves his hands at the books, “- is a _library._ Perhaps you’ve heard of them?”

“Huh,” Bull scratches at the base of his horns. “So, you eat ‘em, or what?” He grabs a book at random and sniffs it before opening his mouth to take a bite.

“Not the _Liberalum!”_ Dorian hisses, leaping up, his hand outstretched.

Bull snorts with laughter. “Gotcha. Contrary to popular belief, us big dumb ox-men can read.” Bull holds up the sheaf of parchment in his hand.

“What are those?” Dorian raises and eyebrow.

“My reports to the Qun. I run ‘em past Red and she sends them.”

Something flickers behind Dorian's eyes. “Do they know you’re doing that? The Qun?”

“Of course,” Bull says. “They’re not happy about it, but they’re not here, are they?”

“Ah,” Dorian says, delicately. The mage does a lot of things delicately.

Sometimes Bull wonders just how much. Like just how delicate he might be with those slender fingers. Or those lips. Before Bull can get mired down in that line of thought, _again,_ he thrusts the papers at Dorian. “You wanna read ‘em?”

Dorian looks tempted. But, he shakes his head. “Not necessary.”

“Suit yourself.” Bull turns to go, then looks over his shoulder. “Varric’s set up a Wicked Grace game later, if you’re interested. Him and me, Evelyn, Sera. Sometimes Blackwall shows up too.”

Dorian looks surprised and for a moment, genuinely pleased. “I -- yes. I think I’d like that.”

Bull nods. “Nine bells. Bring coin. You’ll need it.”

Dorian doesn’t need as much coin as Bull thinks he might. He’s cheating outrageously, but with such charm that no one seems to care. Except Blackwall. Bull’s having a great time watching the Warden try to catch Dorian in the act. This just means the gruff warrior keeps losing. And the more he loses, the more he scowls.

“Five silver.” Bull’s betting hard this round, pushing Dorian.

The mage flicks his coins into the pot with a gentle smile.

Blackwall grunts, frowning at his cards. “Fine. I’m in.” He practically flings the coin to the center of the table.

“Blackwall, why don’t you just give Dorian all your coin now and ask him to show you how he’s cheating?” Varric says, fanning the cards in his hand. “Save you the time.” Varric tosses his bet into the pile.

“I’m not cheating,” Dorian corrects. “I’m playing by Tevinter rules.”

Sera makes a rude noise with her tongue as she considers her cards. “That’s me done. Need to save my coin.” She rises and scoops her remaining cash into a pouch.

“Yeah? What are you saving up for?” Evelyn asks. “I call, Dorian.”

“Oh, er, y’know. _Things._ Gotta dash!” Sera scampers out.

“I do _not_ like the sound of that,” Varric sighs.

“Four Knaves,” Dorian says, laying his cards on the table proudly.

“Blast,” Blackwall says, throwing his cards down. Varric and Evelyn follow suit, though with more good humor.

Bull smiles. “Ah, my pretty ‘Vint. I’ve got you, I’m afraid.”

“Not a chance.” Dorian grins like a cat. “I can’t be gotten, or haven’t you heard?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m pretty good at getting things.” Bull pitches his voice to a rumble and stares hard at Dorian, but there’s a smile in that look, along with the heat.

There’s a few seconds where they stare each other down. Finally Varric clears his throat. “Are... you guys still talking about cards? Or should we leave you two alone?”

Bull lays down his cards one by one. Three Castles, three Divines. Not until they’re all arrayed does Dorian break the eye contact to look down. His eyes go wide. “You beat me! How did you beat me?”

“Houses of the Holy.” Varric shakes his head. “Haven’t seen someone get dealt one of those in a long, long time.”

“Me neither,” Dorian says, frowning hard at Bull.

Bull just smiles sweetly and sweeps the coins towards him.

The game breaks up after that. Blackwall seems pleased that Bull took some of the shine off Dorian's bluster. He’s even more pleased when Evelyn offers to walk to the stables with him. Varric says something about needing to finish a chapter, and wanders off.

“Buy you a drink?” Bull asks Dorian as they pack up.

“I rather think I still owe you one, actually.”

Bull has to think to remember what he’s talking about. And then he remembers, all those weeks ago, back in Haven, Bull had gotten him a drink, and Dorian promised to pay him back. Before Bull had revealed himself to be Ben-Hassrath. _So we’re finally back to square one._ “That’s right. You do. Well, I know you’ve got the coin for it. You’re on.”

The Herald’s Rest is still getting started as a tavern. Cabot busted his ass to get supplies to make beer, but the stuff’s still brewing in back. In the meantime he’s importing kegs of whatever he can get. Having a place to unwind is important, and Evelyn knows it, so they’ve managed to keep the place stocked. Bull suspects that the Inquisition is subsidizing the cost of the booze. No way that the cost of hauling barrels up the mountains is reflected in Cabot’s prices.

“What is it tonight, Cabot?” Bull leans on the bar. Place is clearing out; it’s late.

“They told me it was porter. Swore on Andraste’s tits. The finest porter in Denerim, they said.” He pulls a tankard of pale beer and slides it across the bar.

“You’re shitting me,” Bull says, frowning at the definitely-not-porter.

Cabot shrugs.

“Still no wine, then?” Dorian sighs wearily.

Without batting an eye, Cabot reaches under the bar and plunks a bottle of... something in front of Dorian. “You want it, you gotta buy the whole bottle.”

“Let me guess, is it porter?” Dorian examines the cork on the unmarked, filthy bottle, then fishes through his coin purse and slides a few to the barkeep.

The beer turns out to be surprisingly good. It’s way too cold outside for a crisp lager, but Bull’s not going to turn it down.

Dorian decants a little of the possibly-wine into a glass and swirls it with the long practice of a master.

Bull allows himself a small smile, balancing his desire to grin like an idiot with the need to stay aloof. There’s just something about seeing the mage be so... _Vinty._

“What?” Dorian asks, still vigorously swirling the wine. Every so often he brings it up to his nose, then resumes agitating the glass.

“You crack me up. We’re stuck in the ass end of nowhere, a dwarf hands you a bottle of who-knows-what, and you’re sniffing at it like it might actually be good.” Now Bull can’t hide the grin, so he takes a sip of his beer to cover it.

Dorian sniffs the glass one more time, then takes a sip. A smile lights up his face, and he hands the glass over to Bull. “See for yourself.”

Bull snorts and takes the glass, certain it’s a trick. He swallows a little of the murky red liquid, then blinks. It’s fucking delicious.

Dorian pulls the glass out of his hands. “I know wine, Bull. This is Antivan. You can tell by the shape of the bottle neck. I’m guessing 9:22 Dragon. Fantastic year for wine, terrible year for shipping. There were a lot of storms that year. Lots of ships lost in Rialto Bay. Enterprising divers have been fishing these bottles out for years now. As long as the cork is sound, the wine is usually spectacular. Turns out the bottom of the bay is a great environment to store wines. This bottle would go for an insane sum back home. The auction itself would be an event.”

He pours a bit more in the glass and resumes swirling it around. “Some pirate probably found it and didn’t know what they have. Pity I don’t have a decanter. This is a terrible way to get it to breathe.” He takes a sip. “Ah, I wish Felix were here. He’d love this.”

“He make it back to Tevinter all right?” Bull asks.

“He’s dead.” Dorian keeps his attention trained on his glass. “Blight caught up with him.” He takes another sip, turning so his back is to the bar.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Bull feels like an ass now. He knew the kid was sick. Should’ve known better than to ask.

Dorian shrugs, pursing his lips. He sniffs, twitching his moustache before taking another drink.

“A toast.” Bull holds out his tankard. “To two of the finest ‘Vints I’ve ever met -”

Dorian nods politely and tinks his glass.

“ - Felix Alexius, and Cremisius Aclassi.” Bull drinks deeply as Dorian splutters into his wine glass. But hey, he’s laughing, so it worked out.  

“You are an unmitigated ass.” Dorian laughs as he dabs at the front of his robes.

“Yeah. I kinda am,” Bull admits.

“Which reminds me.” Dorian sets his glass down with a touch more force than necessary. “You _cheated._ There’s no way you had the red Divine in your hand.”

“Because you had it in your pocket,” Bull grins.

“Which means it wasn’t a card you were dealt. Ergo, cheating.” He takes another sip of wine, as if it settles the matter.

“I don’t think undoing your cheating counts as cheating,” Bull laughs.

“It’s worse! Meta-cheating! That's exponentially a bigger crime. Plus you picked my pocket. How did you do that?” He grabs Bull’s free wrist and holds it up. “Look at this thing. It’s enormous. Tell me how you were able to get a tiny slip of cardboard out of my pocket with this huge mitt.”

Bull wiggles his fingers in Dorian's face. The man’s still gripping his wrist. Dorian's thumb and fingers have a gap of an inch where they circle Bull’s skin. “I’m very good with my hands,” Bull purrs.

Dorian cocks an eyebrow and looks up at Bull, but doesn’t loosen his hold. “I can imagine.”

With lightning speed, Bull breaks the hold and twists the grip so he’s holding Dorian's wrist down low, below the bar. He knows he hasn’t hurt the mage, but it takes a moment for Dorian to register that he’s unharmed. He gasps and looks at Bull’s fingers. Bull’s not squeezing at all, just holding Dorian's wrist loosely. There’s no one to see it, which is good, because it probably looks like they’re holding hands.

“I suppose you could snap my arm like a twig,” Dorian says, still regarding his hand.

“Pretty much.”

“And how would it feel, I wonder, if you were actively trying to hold me here?” Dorian's voice is cool and calm.

Bull waits a beat. He thinks he knows what Dorian's asking, but maybe not. “You sure you want to know?”

“Humor me.” Dorian half-heartedly tries to pull away.

Bull’s grip tightens, and he watches Dorian's face very, very closely. His eyelids flutter, he sucks in a tiny breath through his mouth, a flush appears on his neck.

Dorian tries a little harder, and Bull squeezes. Not enough to harm, just enough to immobilize. There’s no mistaking it now. Dorian shudders and his breath is uneven. Bull feels the answering heat just below his stomach.

“Well? That all you got? Thought you were a mage or something,” Bull says it low.

Dorian's eyes widen, and damn, there is _need_ in that look. Bull feels a tingling sensation in his fingers. His grip loosens just a bit, and one corner of his mouth curls up. The tingling becomes uncomfortable, a buzzing that his body is desperate to be rid of and yet craves.

Now it’s Bull’s turn to breathe raggedly as he stares at Dorian. “Nice,” is all he says.

The door opens then, and Dorian's attention is pulled to the sound. Bull drops the mage’s hand, which is good, because it’s Krem and Rocky and Skinner. Last thing he needs is to be caught holding hands with the ‘Vint. They’d never let him live it down.

 _And they shouldn’t._ The thought comes to him. He’s toeing that line again, the one between want and need, physical and emotional. Getting harder and harder to tease them apart. The two concepts are becoming intertwined, tangled. If he’s not careful, they’ll merge.

His tama warned him about that, back when he was just imekari, a child. He took it upon himself to watch over the younger ones, the ones who couldn’t fend off the older, bigger children. To defend them, or teach them to defend themselves.

She pulled him aside. “Imekari. It is not your place. They must learn. And you are not the one to teach them. Why do you do this?”

“Tama, they are hurting. They need protection and comfort.” Bull had been very clear on this. He knew it to be true, and it was.

Tama nodded. “You speak the truth. But only a part of the truth. Tell me the rest.”

Bull would have sooner cut off a leg than deny his tama a direct order. “And I want to,” he admitted in a small voice.

“It pleases you, to protect them?” There was danger in her tone.

He remembers sagging with defeat. “Yes,” he said.

“Listen, and listen well.” Tama put her hand under his chin and pulled it up so that he met her eyes. “I teach you two things now, for you and you alone. First. It is good to protect the weak, so that they may grow strong and serve the Qun. But this must be done because they need it, not because it pleases you to help. Your own want is of no importance. Do you understand?”

He nodded. He’d heard this since he was old enough to comprehend words.

“Second. You have learned a great secret. There are many truths. Wield one, and others may be hidden. Do you understand?”

Bull remembers this. He remembers the dawning of comprehension, the way it spread through him. “Yes, tama.”

“There is more. You may learn to wield these truths on others. But you must be steadfast. You must never wield this weapon on yourself. When choosing your actions, you must see all truths, not just the ones you desire. Do you understand?”

He blinked. “No,” he’d said. Saying no to tama was usually tantamount to requesting a smack, but she did not raise her hand.

“Then remember. Because one day, you will.”

Bull swallows the rest of his beer. He’s starting to wonder if this is what she meant.


	5. Whittled Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian has needs. Bull wants to fulfill them. If he can figure out what the hell's going on, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy!

Something’s wrong with Dorian. Bull senses it the moment the mage saunters into the Herald’s Rest a few nights later. Too many contradictions, screaming out to anyone who was paying attention. Which, granted, is usually just the Iron Bull himself. Almost automatically, he goes into observation mode, trying to figure out what’s wrong.

_Body language._ Dorian's walk is relaxed, almost a strut. Bull could hardly blame him for that. If he had an ass as fine as Dorian's, he’d strut too. But the line of his neck was wrong. Too much tension there.

The easy smiles Dorian scatters are natural enough. He’d practiced in a mirror, maybe. _Court training._ Didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Those two things shouldn’t have set off such alarm bells. Bull needs more information. He keeps his eye on Dorian, now curious to figure it out.

The mage mingles. He drapes an arm casually around Evelyn’s shoulders, leaning into her personal space. Bull bites back a laugh when he sees the look on Blackwall’s face. Dorian’s a cruel, cruel man. Maybe that's why Bull likes him so much.

Fifteen minutes later, Dorian still hasn’t sat down. His gray eyes glint as he waits for a refill on his brandy. _Drinking fast._ He looks at Bull, makes eye contact. Reaches for his goblet without looking and takes a drink.

Bull smirks at him, keeping the mage’s interest even as he catalogues Dorian's face. _Swallowed too hard. Tense. Good at hiding it._

Dorian stalks over to him. “Good evening, Bull,” he purrs.

“Hey, Dorian. How’s it going?” Bull keeps his voice light, in contradiction to the gleam in his eye. Hey, he isn’t made of stone.

“I rather think that's up to you,” Dorian says, leaning over just a bit.

Bull smells the man’s musk, overlaid with rich spice - probably his bath oil - and the sweet notes of the brandy in his goblet. It’s a heady combination. Heat begins to unfurl in Bull’s stomach. He takes a swig of his ale, drawing out the moment. “Yeah?”

Dorian shrugs one shoulder and tilts his head. The line of his throat is close, begging to be licked, bitten. “Don’t tell me all that talk in the field was just talk. That _would_ be disappointing.”

Something was still screaming _wrong!_ to Bull, but he can’t place it. Not enough information. And that's dangerous. Knowing without knowing leads to mistakes. So he does what he’s trained to do: gather more information. “You wanna sit down a second? Discuss things?” Bull asks.

Dorian shrugs again. “I’ve been sitting all day,” he says, looking out over the crowd.

Bull blinks. _A lie._ Dorian was lying. What possible reason could he have to lie about such a petty thing as sitting down? _Keep him talking._ “Mind if I finish my drink?” Bull sips from his tankard, still two-thirds full.

“If you must,” Dorian sighs languidly.

_In a hurry, trying to hide it._ Bull decides to press him. “You in a hurry, gorgeous?”

A nerve twitches at the corner of Dorian's eye at the compliment. “Not so much that I’m in a hurry as I can think of better ways to spend my time. And yours. You can blame it on your constant verbal assault, if you like. Maybe it’s finally gotten to me.” Dorian drawls.

“All right,” Bull says slowly. “I have to pay my tab.”

“I’ll meet you up there.” The grin Dorian gives him as he leans a few inches closer? Fucking hot. The mage is lucky Bull doesn’t just bend him over the nearest bench. And then he leans away, still grinning, and walks up the stairs.

Bull takes his time. He drinks his drink, not slow, not fast. Deliberate. Rises and leaves the empty mug on the bar with a few coppers. Gives a nod to Krem, who’s rolling his eyes, and takes the stairs two at a time.

Dorian's leaning on the doorframe, examining his nails. One foot is kicked up, resting on the wood, his hips jutted just so. “You’re lucky I didn’t give up,” he says.

Bull shrugs. “I’m here now.”

“So you are.” Something flickers behind Dorian's eyes. Mostly anticipation. Mostly. But not all. And whatever that other thing is, it’s got Bull’s brain working overtime.

Bull walks into his room, holding the door open for Dorian.

The mage looks around. The room is a mess. Not dirty, but certainly not orderly. Playing cards on the floor, a pile of rubble in the corner, socks and smalls strewn about. Bull’s not much one for tidiness. He keeps his gear in good shape, but sleeping quarters have never been much of a priority, as long as it doesn’t attract vermin.

There’s that flicker again, now more than that - an expression, a tightness in the mouth and eye, a heavy breath. Before Bull can figure it out, Dorian heaves a melodramatic sigh. “Charming.”

“We’re not all Altus, you know,” Bull grins. “Some of us are used to living rough.”

“And some of us grew up with a battalion of maids, and yet manage to keep our quarters clean,” Dorian snipes back.

“Ouch,” Bull says, waiting.

Dorian seems at a loss. “Well? I believe there was some talk of conquering?”

_Words are brave, but he’s shaking._ “That what you want?” Bull asks, moving closer, getting into his space.

“It... could be,” Dorian replies, backing away.

Bull backs him right up to the wall, then pins him there without touching him, his forearms on either side of the mage’s head. _He’s scared. Not of me._ “Yeah? What did you have in mind?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dorian tries a smile but it doesn’t work.

_Careful._ Bull’s not sure Dorian wants this. The man wants _something_ , that much is clear. “Not really,” Bull hopes the honesty will jar Dorian into revealing something more.

“Maybe I’m losing my touch.”

It’s a joke, so Bull smiles. “I’d kinda need you to touch me first, to know for sure.”

And Dorian does, yanking down Bull’s pauldron and kissing him, hard and desperate. Bull doesn’t push, gives less than he gets, sees if Dorian will find whatever he’s looking for.

After a moment, Dorian relaxes into it. The desperation goes away and he melts a little, breathing into Bull’s lips, and _fuck_ is it hot. He starts wondering what difference it makes, if something’s wrong with Dorian. Shit, he’s been thinking about this since the damn Fallow Mire. Maybe he’s worrying out of habit. Maybe he should just enjoy this.

Bull reaches down and lifts Dorian nice and easy, hoisting the man up. Dorian gives a little surprised gasp, and then he wraps his legs around Bull’s waist. His eyes are bright, too bright. “You like that?” Bull murmurs the words into the crook of Dorian's neck, feeling the man shiver. He’s getting hard; Bull can feel the bulge through his trousers, pressed up against his own bare stomach.

“Yes,” Dorian gasps.

Bull keeps licking and nibbling, repeating the question. Each time he gets a _yes_ he presses a little further. He can hear something wrong in Dorian's voice, a brittle edge.

Bull slips one of his hands under Dorian's waistband to cup his ass. His pants are made of something pliant, almost stretchy, and there’s not a lot of resistance from the fabric.

There’s absolutely no resistance from the mage. He curls into Bull, the first real reaction, unguarded. “Fuck,” Bull breathes, as he feels something in him respond, hot and loose and dangerous. He could get used to this. He could get very used to it.

Bull’s hand slips lower, tracing Dorian's cleft. There’s something there. Bull freezes. Dorian's got a plug inside him.

No wonder he didn’t want to sit.

All of the synapses in Bull’s brain go into action, lighting up. He pulls back to look at Dorian's face.

The mask he’s wearing is lewd, self-satisfied. Almost perfect. Anyone else but Bull would’ve been fooled. But he knows Dorian.

It all snaps into place. Dorian's looking to fuck, yes, but he’s looking to get it over with as quick as possible. He needs it, and not for the right reasons. That's what’s wrong. The look on his face when he saw Bull’s room. Bull replays it in his mind, and recognizes it: disappointment. Dorian wants something better. Something more. He hates that he’s stooping so low. Another quick fuck in a dirty room in a tavern.

Bull keeps the panic from his face, just keeps breathing slow and heavy.

Dorian smirks. “Something wrong? I’ve never gotten complaints before.”

“No complaints,” Bull says, buying time.

Fuck. Anyone else and he’d just end it now. He’s not interested in being a part of this kind of game.

But this is Dorian. Bull ends it now, Dorian’ll take it personally. It might just feed whatever made him get in this position in the first place. Do more damage. And that's the last thing Bull wants.

_It doesn’t matter what you want. Give him what he needs._

“Well what is it then?” Dorian asks, and there’s that sharpness again. The confidence is an act.

Bull smiles, slow. “Just planning all the things I’m gonna do, beautiful.”

Dorian's smile goes fixed, just for a second. And then he’s back. “I like the sound of that.”

Bull moves slowly, deliberately. He needs to make it so that when Dorian walks out that door, afterwards, maybe he won’t feel as shitty as when he came in. Or at least, not any worse. And the first part of that will be getting him to let down his defenses.

He sets Dorian down. “Stay there. Just like that,” he says, pitching his voice low, giving it a snap of command. Dorian blinks, once, and Bull sees the shudder work through him. Dorian doesn’t move. “Good,” Bull says, stepping back.

Bull steps to the bed, yanking the tousled blanket and sheet from the mattress. He gives the fabric a few good waves, snapping it to dislodge any dust or dirt, then smooths the fabric down, no wrinkles, tucking it firmly around each corner.

“I’m not that delicate,” Dorian huffs, crossing his arms.

Bull hums. “You’re gonna be on that bed a while, and you’re gonna want something to hold on to. We start with the sheets all messy, we’ll end up with none at all.”

Again, Dorian quails, tries to hide it. Bull tilts his horns. “You change your mind? It’s fine.”

Dorian shakes his head. “No, I... no,” he says, and Bull wonders who he’s trying to convince.

Bull sits on the side of the bed. He unbuckles his boots, then his leg brace, watching Dorian. The mage still hasn’t moved from the spot by the wall. _Very interesting._

Bull keeps his pants on. Mostly because he knows Dorian hates them, but also so the man won’t get distracted too early. “Alright. Come here,” Bull says, waving him over.

Dorian obliges. He’s not strutting now, just putting one foot in front of the other. And he’s not smirking, either. He looks apprehensive. Not scared, but this is definitely not what he was expecting. The mask is starting to slip, and the real Dorian's starting to show through. Better and better.

He stands between Bull’s knees, his eyes darting up. “Go ahead,” Bull says. “You can touch them.”

Dorian reaches out with both hands and twists his fingers around Bull’s horns. “They’re warm,” he marvels, continuing to stroke.

Bull almost laughs, but he doesn’t. Not because he’s afraid of hurting Dorian's feelings, but because what the man is doing with his hands feels damn good. He hums, letting his eye fall closed. “It’s not dead tissue,” he says, and his voice is a bit breathy. “I can feel that. Shit, Dorian, I’ve had Tamassrans who weren’t as good at a horn job.”

Dorian's hands freeze for just a second, and then continue to twist and stroke. “What... what does it feel like?” His voice is full of curiosity.

“Give me your hand,” Bull sighs, and when Dorian removes one of his hands, Bull scrapes at one of Dorian's fingernails with one of his own. “Like that, only much more.”

“Fascinating,” Dorian says.

Bull opens his eye and looks at Dorian. The mage seems to have forgotten why he’s in the bedroom in the first place as he examines Bull’s horns. And while Bull is all for scientific exploration, now is definitely not the time or place. He pulls Dorian's other hand down.

“Give me your foot,” Bull says, holding out his hands. “I wanna get those booties off.”

“I can take my boots off, thank you very much,” Dorian huffs.

“Alright, make you a deal. You take off your boots, I get to take off the rest,” Bull grins, runs his hand up the outside of Dorian's thigh.

Dorian puts a hand on Bull’s shoulder and leans forward, almost close enough to kiss. He reaches down and yanks one boot off, then the other. He’s still smiling, and he hasn’t leaned away.

Bull takes the bait, pulling him the last few inches by the back of his neck. Dorian's just a few inches taller now, with Bull sitting. He’s more comfortable, relaxing into the kiss quicker, so Bull pushes a bit, taking control.

Dorian's reaction is immediate and hot as fucking hell. He moans and his knees buckle, his hands clutching at Bull’s shoulders while he presses his body into Bull’s chest. _Damn. This is... damn._ Bull gives himself a little time to just enjoy it, the way Dorian is quivering and whimpering.

He cards his fingers through Dorian's hair and pulls, not hard, just enough to hold the man steady. “You like that?” Bull asks again, and he’s not even done getting the words out of his mouth and Dorian's nodding and breathing _yes._

“Good,” Bull says, pushing him a few inches back. He looks Dorian up and down. The mage’s eyes are already wide and dark, his lips flushed and swollen. It’s a good look. Bull flicks open the buckles on the sleeves, shucking them off, then pops the knotted cords holding his tunic closed and peels it away from the mage.

“Shit,” Bull says, smoothing his palm across the plane of Dorian's chest. “I could get used to this.”

Dorian's mouth opens, then closes. Having Bull get used to anything clearly isn’t his plan, but now he’s thinking about it.

Before he thinks himself into a knot, Bull gives the laces of his trousers a yank, then loosens them, tracing his finger over Dorian's half-hard cock. Dorian moans and flexes his hips, putting a hand to steady himself on Bull’s shoulder. Bull guides the fabric down, stroking Dorian's hips and thighs.

“Damn, that's gorgeous,” Bull says, cupping Dorian's balls and giving them a gentle tug.

“I’m glad you think so,” Dorian breathes, and Bull can tell he’s said it before, it’s what he always says, an automatic response.

_He doesn’t believe it. Thinks it’s just dirty talk._ It’s like when Bull first talked to him, back at Haven. When he flinched at Bull’s flirting. Bull revises his strategy, taking all the casual praise about Dorian's good looks out of his vocabulary. For now. Maybe later....

Bull doesn’t allow himself to think past that point, dragging his attention back to the present. He half-pushes, half carries Dorian and lays him down on the bed, on his back. “You still good?”

“Oh yes,” Dorian says, and this time he half-means it. _Getting there._

Bull stretches out along Dorian's body. He runs his hands up and down, chest and stomach and thighs, and then back again. Just as Dorian opens his mouth to say something, Bull kisses him.

This time he takes no quarter, sucking and tasting and biting exactly as he pleases. Dorian's writhing under him, hips bucking madly.

Bull brings his fingers closer and closer to Dorian's cock, never quite touching it. Finally he scrapes his nails lightly up the inside of one of Dorian's thighs.

“Please,” Dorian whines.

“Ah, there it is,” Bull smiles. _Almost there._

“You like hearing me beg?” Dorian pants, and Bull hears two questions, not one. Because underneath the question Dorian asked is another: _are you going to hurt me?_ And that's the one Bull needs to answer.

“Begging’s good,” Bull says. “Mostly I just wanted to make sure you really want it.”

Dorian rolls his eyes. “I do. Bull, I do, please, for the love of all that's holy _why are you still wearing those awful pants?”_

_**There** he is. Finally._ Bull grins, chuckling. “I’ll get to it. What’s the rush?” Bull runs his gaze down to Dorian's straining erection. “You seem to be enjoying things.”

Dorian rolls his eyes again, his hands reaching for Bull’s waistband. “Yes but -”

“Dorian. Hush. I like watching people get off. Just relax and enjoy it.” Bull says, and he’s smiling, but there’s a hint of an order in there too.

Dorian huffs an exasperated sigh, but lays still.

Bull nods. “Good.” He runs his hand up Dorian's thigh again, and this time he reaches down and nudges the plug nestled inside him. Dorian burbles a tiny moan. “I think we can get rid of this for the moment.” Bull pulls slowly and firmly, watching Dorian's face. He reaches under the bed and pulls out the bottle of oil he’s got under there, slicking up his finger.

Dorian watches this but doesn’t say anything. His breath is shallow though, and he swallows hard. Bull hitches Dorian's leg up, draping it over to allow him easier access. His finger finds the man’s entrance, still loose from the plug. He eases in with almost no resistance, but Bull takes it extra gentle.

It’s clear Dorian isn’t used to “extra gentle”. His brow keeps creasing and smoothing, his eyes wary, as he anticipates more than what he gets. Bull’s stomach clenches, but he keeps the anger welling up inside him off his face. Dorian's so fucking gorgeous like this. What fucking assholes wouldn’t take the time to enjoy it?

Bull forces himself to concentrate. “This okay?” He keeps his voice quiet, low.

“Yes,” Dorian breathes, gasping a little. When Bull crooks his finger, he says it again, gasping for real.

“Mmm, that's it. That's what I like to see.” Bulls croons.

Dorian looks overwhelmed. He’s writhing and moaning as Bull presses into him, finding just the right spot, over and over. His hand reaches down to touch his cock.

“No hands,” Bull growls.

Dorian whines, a wordless plea, his eyes now almost frantic. “Bull. Bull. I - ungh - I -” He shakes his head, squinting.

“That’s it. Come on, let’s have it. Come.” Bull says.

And then Dorian arches as far as he can, almost shouting a moan. He collapses back on to the bed, blinking in astonishment as he regards his still-hard, still-dry cock. “Fasta vass,” he whispers, shivering a little as Bull pulls his finger out, but not away, resting it against Dorian's entrance. “I've never... how. ..?”

“Good, right?” Bull grins.

Dorian reaches up and pulls Bull’s face down by the horns. The kiss is hot and sloppy and shaky and perfect. Bull’s hard now, and he bucks against Dorian's leg, letting the mage feel him through his trousers.

“You maybe want another?” Bull murmurs, and takes Dorian's groaned “fuck” as a yes. This time he presses two fingers in, still breathing hot into Dorian's mouth. He fucks in and out, less gentle, as if it was his cock.

Dorian clutches at him, still warbling moans. Bull kisses him, matching the rhythm of his hand, moaning along with the mage. He ruts against Dorian, grinding into him, showing the man how much he likes this, egging him on.

This time takes a bit longer, but not much, and Bull swallows Dorian's groans. He pulls his hand out and away, before he’s tempted to keep right on going and wrench a dozen prostate orgasms from the man. “Fuck, Dorian, that's so fucking hot,” he says. His voice is shaking and he doesn’t care. He scrambles to get his trousers off, makes do with just pulling them down to his knees as he lays on his back.

Dorian rolls over, slithering down Bull’s body, his mouth tracing hot and wet. He licks up the underside of Bull’s cock with a moan, moving his whole body as he does it. Bull grunts, curling up to watch Dorian's tongue slather at him, his fingers twisting around to follow, and Bull almost loses it right there. Gritting his teeth, he takes fistfuls of the sheets in his hands, slamming his head back to the pillow.

“Fuck that's good. Dorian. Damn. Ah, that's so good. Fuck.” Bull pulls him up by the shoulders, and Dorian makes a disappointed sound. Bull finds the oil and slicks up his cock, then Dorian's. The mage bucks into his hand. He’s close.

Bull lays Dorian on top of him, their hard skin slick against each other. “Will you do something for me?”

There’s a flicker of apprehension in Dorian's eyes. “I’m listening.”

Wary. _When did Dorian learn not to say yes right away,_ Bull wonders. He swats the thought away. Time to worry about that later. He loops a slicked hand around their cocks, takes his other and puts it on Dorian's hips. “I want to feel you move.”

Dorian looks even more confused. “You don’t want to fuck me? You just gave me two of the most flawless orgasms in recent memory and all you want is a modified handjob?”

Bull swallows back the bile that's rising in the back of his throat at hearing how transactional this is to Dorian. “Look. That night in the Fallow Mire, feeling you rock into me....” He bucks into his fist a little, remembering it. “That's not how I wanna remember you, fighting for your life. If I only get one night with you, I want to feel that again, knowing that you want it. That you’re giving it to me, not having some damn demons take it from you.” Fuck. He hadn’t meant to confess that.

Dorian's stops frowning, and he nods, once. His hips roll forward, sinuous. Bull sucks in air through his teeth, and Dorian gasps, in shock and maybe something close to wonder. He rolls his hips again, and then again, gaining speed. He looks down at Bull’s hand wrapped around him and whimpers. Swallowing hard, his eyes closed tight with effort, he fucks into Bull’s hand, sliding against palm and cock.

“Fuck, yes,” Bull sighs. “That’s it. So good. So good. Lemme feel you. That's it.”

Dorian's making these tiny little mewling noises and Bull’s not sure he’s ever heard anything sweeter. Some part of him knows this is more than a fuck, but it’s too late now. Another thing to deal with later. For now all that matters is seeing Dorian slowly come apart for him.

And it is slow. A long, slow build, the friction just barely enough to keep them at the edge. Dorian's shaking, sweating, rolling his head back and forth, his eyes clenched closed. He needs more.

“Dorian. Open your eyes,” Bull says, his voice tight. “Look at me.”

Those gray eyes snap open and the mage whimpers. “Please,” he says, and now Bull _knows_ he’s never heard anything sweeter.

“I want you to come for me.” With his free hand, Bull swipes his thumb along Dorian's cheeks to his lips. Dorian starts sucking, hard, moaning around the digit.

“That’s it. I can’t come until you do,” Bull urges him on. “For me, Dorian. Come on. Fuck, that's so good. Come. Come for me. You can do it. Come on. That's it. Yes. Fuck, yes.”

Dorian's completely unmasked now, vulnerable, and Bull’s heart stutters to see how beautiful he is. Dorian moans, “I’m coming, oh Bull, I’m _coming,”_ as if he’s never felt this before, staring with wide-eyed awe and confusion into Bull’s face as he stripes his seed across Bull’s stomach.

And that's all Bull can take. Bull bucks as his own orgasm rips through him, growling curses in Qunlat.

After a few seconds to gather breath, he pulls Dorian down, wrapping the quivering man with one huge arm, gathering the blankets around them with his free hand. As perfect as it feels to have Dorian curled up on him again, as much as his body relaxes into the rightness of it, Bull knows the moment is fleeting.

It’s longer than he expects before Dorian begins to squirm, trying to push himself up. _Almost two minutes. Maybe he’ll be back again._ Bull loosens his grip, not letting his reluctance show.

“Well,” Dorian says, and he’s looking everywhere but at Bull. Not that Bull expected anything else.

“Well,” Bull agrees, and he keeps his voice light and pleasant.

Dorian rolls off him, and Bull lets himself sigh. Because it could be a sigh of contentment or it could be a sigh of “you don’t have to go”, and he wants to see which Dorian thinks it is.

For just a fraction of a second, Dorian freezes, and Bull has his answer. People don’t freeze up for contentment. Dorian doesn’t look at Bull, and then he’s off the bed, wiping himself clean with the cloth by the washbasin, gathering his clothes and pulling them on.

Bull lays there, not attempting to cover himself up in any way, watching as Dorian steals glances at his chest. Bull wants to pull him back, have Dorian drag his fingers through the spend and let Bull suck them clean. But he doesn’t, because that'd be too much.

So he just watches, hands behind his head, until Dorian finally has no choice but to look at him. And then he smiles, a friendly smile, and he sees Dorian try to smile too, even though he can’t, quite. And shit, does that hurt. No reason to show it, though. “Damn, Dorian. This was a good idea. We shoulda done this ages ago.”

“All my ideas are good ones,” Dorian notes, his voice haughty, and there’s a smile, a real one, and Bull’s chest loosens.

“Your idea? I thought it was my idea, and you just came around finally,” Bull grins. He leans up on to his elbows. “Toss me that cloth, would you?” He points with his chin at the towel.

Dorian does, and now he watches openly as Bull cleans himself up, watches as he swipes at the muscles in his stomach and chest. In Dorian's eyes, Bull can see the want take hold. _He’ll be back._

Bull chucks the towel to the side of the bed and sits up. He’s got his back to Dorian, reaching over to retrieve his smalls, when he throws the question out. “Hey, I hear you and the Inquisitor are heading to Redcliffe in a few days. You want company? It’s Krem’s birthday soon. I was thinking of hitting that shop on the main square, getting him a new pair of greaves. His are pretty beat up, so I thought I’d -”

The feeling of Dorian's hand on his shoulder is a bit of a surprise, rapidly eclipsed by the sight of a snarling mage with a fistful of lightning at the ready.

“What did you hear? Is this one of your Ben-Hassrath tricks, hmm? Butter me up when I’m vulnerable? Gain my trust, so you can get information?” Dorian's spitting the words like poison darts.

Bull’s not ready for this. “Dorian? What are you -”

“Don’t play stupid, Bull,” Dorian seethed, raising his hand. “Give me the truth. Now.”

Bull tries to turn, face Dorian directly, but he can’t move. Some kind of magic is holding him. “Dorian. I would never, ever do anything to cause you harm, directly or indirectly.”

Bull’s riding the line. He says it because it’s true, and Dorian needs to hear the truth, and Bull wants to know what’s wrong. But if his tama ever heard him talking like that she’d slap him. And the re-educators would have the Qamek down his throat before he finished the thought. The only constant is the Qun. The kind of words he just used are too close to a promise, too close to an admission that there are other constants in the universe than those the Koslun laid down. And to say that kind of promise to a ‘Vint?

The hand pulls away from his shoulder. Dorian's still frowning, but he’s not clutching a nest of sparks in his hand.

“I don’t know anything about why you’re going to Redcliffe,” Bull says. “Figured it might be personal, if it’s just you and Evelyn,” he acknowledges. “I take it you’re not going to do a little shopping.”

Dorian's fighting with himself. Bull can see it in the way his jaw works, the way he’s looking at Bull but seeing something else, something far away. “None of your concern,” he says finally.

Bull shrugs. “Fair enough.”

Dorian opens his mouth again, and hesitates.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Bull says. “It’s fine.” He pinches the bridge of his nose with his hand, the fatigue slamming into him from out of nowhere. “Have a good trip.” Bull drops his hands into his lap, staring down at them in the pale light filtering through the hole in the roof. He doesn’t look up as he hears Dorian's footsteps recede, or even after the door opens and closes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...... did I mention there would be angst? Because there will. be. angst.


	6. The Statue Resists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull tries to get a hold of himself while Dorian's in Redcliffe. "Tries" being the operative word.

Bull snaps awake at dawn the next morning. He’s already got a restless feeling in his gut. Not like the Asala-taar, the soul-sickness,  but not good, either. With no jobs for the Chargers on the horizon, Bull’s at loose ends, and with the way his gut and brain are churning, that's a recipe for disaster.

The memories of all the mistakes he made last night loom like ghosts. Shit. Maybe he’d have been better off just giving Dorian the quick fuck he wanted. His tama’s words come back to him: _Not everyone needs help._

He heaves himself up from the bed, strapping on his knee brace and shoving his feet through his trouser legs. No point in dwelling on it. He’ll deal with the fallout at some point. What he needs now is to do something useful. He picks up the cards and socks from the floor while he thinks about it.

By mid-morning, Bull’s quarters are clean and he’s got a four-inch timber balanced on one shoulder as he knocks a wooden peg with a steady rhythm. It’s good to be working. Not as good as hitting things with his axe, but the hammer’ll do in a pinch. He’s got the doors to the battlements open, there’s a breeze, and the sounds of his hammer keeping him company. No thoughts about a prissy ‘Vint at all. Nope. Just Bull, the wood, the sky above, and -

“You know we have people for that.” Dorian leans in the doorframe, arms crossed.

Bull curses and drops the hammer. He stares at it balefully, lying ten feet below on the ground.

“Ooh, did I sneak up on the Ben-Hassrath? What do I win?”

Bull sighs. “Your prize is getting me that damn hammer,” he grunts, holding out his hand.

Dorian waves and the hammer levitates into Bull’s grip. His expression is slightly mocking, sardonic, with no indication that he threatened Bull’s life not twelve hours before.

_That's the way we’re playing it, I guess_. Bull shouldn’t be surprised. And he sure as shit shouldn’t be disappointed.

Bull goes back to pounding in the wooden peg. When it’s done he heads down the ladder and picks through the timbers, selecting a board. He brings one end up to his eye, checking for warping. “Something you need? Or you just like watching manual labor?”

Dorian snorts. “Oh yes. Reminds me of home. If only I had some peeled grapes.”

There’s a pause while Bull shifts the ladder and stabilizes it, then hefts the timber to his shoulder and climbs. Bull slots the rafter into place on the beam. He pulls a peg from his pocket and taps it a few times gently to seat it. When it’s in far enough that he can let go, he pounds it firmly into the wood.

“So, what brought this little bout of domesticity on, then? I thought you liked living in rustic dishevelment. It's almost tidy in here.” Dorian examines his fingernails.

Bull doesn’t answer right away, because he realizes that there are a dozen other things he could be doing with his time. Helping Cullen train the new recruits. Scouting the approach to Skyhold. Working with Leliana on joint intelligence. Hell, he could be doing the exact same thing he’s doing right now, but in some other area of the keep, where it’ll benefit other people beside himself.

But none of those things occurred to him. No, his mind leapt to the thing that would make his chambers more desirable to Dorian, and then justified the decision in reverse. Fuck. He’s supposed to be inured to that kind of thinking.

“Cat got your tongue?” Dorian's voice cuts in when Bull couldn’t keep hammering the peg any longer without risking a split in the wood.

“You are quite the venak hol, you know that?” Bull grunts.

Dorian smirks. “I don't know what that means, but I'm fairly certain I’ve been called worse.”

They stare at each other a moment longer. Dorian pushes himself off the doorframe. “Well, I can see I’m not wanted.”

The thought comes to Bull: _that's definitely not the problem._ His hand slips and he drops the hammer again.

Dorian raises an eyebrow, and levitates the tool a second time.

Bull sucks in a deep breath and lets it out. This whole thing is annoying the crap out of him suddenly. “Dorian, what are you doing here?”

“I came to apologize. I overreacted last night.” Dorian says at once, and he looks sincere. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t mention it,” Bull shrugs, picking out another rafter from the stack.

Dorian laughs, a tinkly kind of thing that only vaguely hints at amusement. “Not going to win any awards for graciousness, are you?”

“It’s my day off,” Bull growls. And now Dorian laughs for real, and some of the tension in Bull’s stomach relaxes. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to apologize. I get it. You’ve got no reason to trust me.”

“Oh, but I do,” Dorian says softly, and his eyes are far away again. He collects himself and shoots a dazzling smile at Bull. “Well. I’ll just leave you to your... handiness.” He waves his hand in circles in the direction of the roof and begins to saunter off.

“Dorian,” Bull calls out. “Hey. Hey, Dorian.”

The mage turns and pops his head back in. “Yyyyes?”

“We... we good?” Bull says.

“Well,” Dorian drawls. “I don’t know about _you,_ but I’m _always_ good.”

It doesn’t take Bull long to finish the repairs on his roof - just a couple days. Dorian's gone by then, headed to Redcliffe with Evelyn. Bull didn’t see him go. Not that he was specifically avoiding the man, but the keep was a big place. He had to admit, his room was a hell of a lot warmer with a ceiling to hold in the heat. Quieter, too.

Maybe too much quieter. Because a week later, Bull’s in there one afternoon with Tania, a tall and lean redheaded scout. There’s a saying in the Qun: If you crave a taste too much, confuse your tongue. Okay, it wasn’t a great translation, but he’d been craving Dorian's taste, and Tania was more than willing to help Bull wash that flavor away.

Bull’s got her just where he wants her, gasping and moaning, riding on his cock. Damn. Her thighs are literally perfect, and Bull’s got one of her big puffy nipples between a thumb and forefinger. She’s biting her lip, sweating, and then -

There’s a knock on one of the doors from the battlements, and without waiting for a response, Dorian pokes his head in. He’s got a set of greaves in his hands. “Hello, Bull did you....”

For an instant, everything stops. It feels like one of those weird rifts in Redcliffe, where time slowed to a crawl.

“...miss me? Well, apparently not.” Dorian makes a sound like a laugh, but it’s chilling. He drops the greaves by the door and shuts it behind him. Not a slam or a meek exit, he just shuts the door like walking in on Bull balls deep in someone else is not surprising.

“Oh, shit,” Bull mutters.

Bull waits a good long time after Tania leaves before heading downstairs. It feels like he swallowed something wrong, like something’s stuck in his throat. Still. It’ll pass. Whatever weird shit Dorian's stirred up will settle eventually, sink to the bottom where it can’t hurt anything.

Bull surveys the crowd in the Herald’s Rest. It’s getting rowdy. Details start jumping out at him - the dagger-sized bulge at that barmaid’s hip, the glare one guy gives his laughing friend, the card being palmed at the Wicked Grace game in the corner. It’s too much to take in, and none of it matters, so he leaves.

The sun’s just setting, so Bull decides to get in a few rounds with the practice dummies. It’s a good time to do it; he always destroys them, so better to do it late in the day, leaving them to be replaced in the morning, than ruin it for everyone else.

He grabs his favorite axe, the Gift of the Mountain Father. It feels solid in his hands, steady as stone but nimble as a reed. The first dummy gets chopped into bits before he can really think about it. Frustration courses through his limbs; it’s messy, chunks of splinters and shredded canvas. The second is smoother, clean slices straight through.

By now he’s sweating, his shoulders warm from the exertion. He eyes the third and final target. From a few yards away, he begins a charge, straight on, no fancy moves. At the last second he raises the axe and slices straight down. The dummy breaks into two equal halves, falling to the ground simultaneously.

The sound of slow applause makes him turn. Dorian's leaning at the base of the steps to the battlement, an open bottle clutched under his arm. “Bra-vo,” he slurs. “Excellent. Capital. Smashing.” He raises the bottle to his lip and takes a deep drink. Raising his eyebrows, he holds it out to Bull.

Bull steps closer. Dorian's drunk, that much is obvious. Bull guesses Dorian’s just past the level of inebriation he’d seen in the Fallow Mire. He takes the bottle from the mage and drinks, more to see what’s gotten him in this condition.

It’s more of the Antivan wine. Way too good to waste on getting crocked. “I don’t think you let this breathe properly, ‘Vint.”

Dorian grabs it back, looking hurt. “So the brute has a palate. I’m sure if this doesn’t interest you, I have something else you can suck. Unless you can only go once per day?” Dorian raised his eyebrows in a mockery of innocence.

Bull snorts. “I can take you as many times as you want to give it, ‘Vint,” Bull growls. “But not tonight.”

“Why’s that, I wonder. You have a pretty redhead all tied up and waiting for you? At least she’ll be warm under your new roof.” Dorian nods.

Bull’s clenching his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. “That’s not it,” he says.

“Then what is it?” Dorian traces a finger down the bead of sweat on Bull’s breastbone.

“I only sleep with people who’ll remember it in the morning.” Bull grabs the wine away and takes a long pull. “And you won’t.”

Dorian snatches the bottle, his eyes narrowed. “How _dare_ you,” he says, as if Bull accused him of something more than being drunk. “I _always_ remember. Always. Every. Single. Time. Whether I want to, or not.” He goes to drink again, but the bottle’s empty now. He smashes it on the wall behind them.

Now, with nothing to do with his hands, no distractions, Dorian's eyes fill with horror at some memory, though whether recent or long past, Bull can't tell. He tries to turn away, flee up the steps, but Bull can’t take it. Can’t let him leave, not with that look. He grabs Dorian by the shoulders and pulls him in. 

Dorian doesn’t fight it. In fact he leans in, pressing himself into Bull’s sweaty skin. His shoulders are shaking like he’s crying, but his eyes are dry. Bull’s trying not to think. Not about how satisfying this feels, not about whatever hell Dorian's been through, not about the Qun and his duty, not about anything.

The shaking stops after a while, and Bull pulls away. “Come on. Let’s go,” he says, looping one of Dorian's arms around his waist, and putting his own around the mage’s shoulders.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Where do you think?”

They make it up the stairs and turn towards Bull’s room. Once inside, Bull slowly, carefully pulls off every article of Dorian's clothing, down to his smalls. He backs the man up to the bed, and Dorian sinks down without question. Bull strips himself as well, then clambers in the other side of the bed.

He pulls the blanket over them both, pulling Dorian to lay nestled along his side.

“What are you doing?” Dorian's voice is taut.

“Giving you something new to remember.” Bull drops an arm behind Dorian's back. “Now go to sleep.”

Bull wakes up angry. Angry at himself, angry at the Qun, just angry. Because, frankly, that was the best night’s sleep he’s had in recent memory. And there’s no denying it, now: he’s crossed the line. Qunari don’t share beds, not even the Viddathari. It’s one thing to fall asleep after sex, especially if you’ve been drinking, but this?

In the dim light of morning, Bull couldn’t even pretend he was sure it was something Dorian needed. Yeah, the guy had been upset the night before. And yeah, he probably didn’t want to be alone. But Bull didn’t _know_ that. And the line between what Dorian needed and what Bull wanted was now almost too blurred to distinguish.

He feels Dorian sigh against him, and stretch his muscles. Bull doesn’t react, but he doesn’t pretend to be asleep either.

“Good morning,” Dorian says quietly.

“Morning.”

There’s a long pause.

“Why did you bring me up here?” Dorian asks, tracing a finger over Bull’s chest.

There are lots of true answers to choose from. Bull picks one: “I didn’t think you wanted to be alone.” Far enough from what he really wants to say: _because I wanted you here._

Dorian hums as he considers it. “Fair point. I didn’t. I’m sorry I walked in on you, by the way. Next time I’ll wait for an answer before I barge in.”

Bull breathes before he answers, sets himself. “I’m sorry you had to see it. I know that... bothers a lot of humans.”

Dorian snorts. “Is that why you thought I was upset? Last night?” He pushes himself up, twisting around so he could see Bull’s face.

Bull breathes again. “I thought it was possible, yeah.”

Dorian lays back down, shaking his head. And now Bull’s gut is roiling, because he realizes he _wanted_ that to be the reason Dorian was upset. Fuck.

Before he can sink too deep into his own head, Dorian speaks. “I was upset because of what happened at Redcliffe. I was supposed to meet a family retainer. That's why I got so angry the other night. I panicked, thinking the Qun had ordered you to intercede. I wasn't exactly in the best mindset.”

Bull refrains from pointing out the enormous scale of that understatement. “What happened in Redcliffe?”

Dorian sighed. “My father was there, not a retainer. He’d come to drag me home, chain me, by my loins if necessary, to my betrothed until we by some miracle made a baby. And then I could spend the rest of my life in true Altus fashion: luxurious, respectable despair.”

“What?” Bull boggles at this.

“Oh yes. Didn’t you know? My dear papa’s sole goal in life is to get me to marry the wife he’d picked for me. Livia. She’s quite lovely, actually.” Dorian states this fact blandly.

“But you don't -”

“Exactly,” Dorian says. “He keeps trying, I keep escaping. The last abduction attempt was rather thorough. Armed men dragged me away from my lover in the dead of night. Varric would’ve loved it. I should sell him the rights to my story. Make a bit of coin.”

“WHAT?” Bull tries to temper his roar, to little effect. “Your own father... abducted you?”

Dorian just chuckles. “Oh yes. He was going to use blood magic, you see. Change me. In comparison, traveling to Redcliffe to offer a milquetoast apology seems rather tame. Maybe he’s beginning to mellow.”

Bull can feel the anger growing out of control. He shuts his eye and concentrates on breathing slow and steady, counting his heartbeats. He repeats a line of one of the cantos: _The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless._

Usually this works. But usually he doesn’t have a mage draped across his chest. Dorian twists around again. “I say, are you all right?”

“I’m trying to calm down,” Bull mutters.

“Are you angry?”

Bull opens his eye and looks at Dorian. The man has an incredulous expression on his face. “You are! You’re angry at my father!”

“Yeah, I tend to get that way about people who want to use blood magic on my friends. Call me crazy,” Bull admits.

Dorian settles back down, resting his cheek on Bull’s chest. “We’re friends, now, are we?”

Bull can’t keep up with this conversation. “Uh... yeah?”

“Oh, I must’ve missed a dispatch,” Dorian says, smoothing his palm across Bull’s stomach.

“What did you think we were?” Bull asks. His curiosity is tempered by a vague feeling of unease.

“Oh, I don’t know. Amicable enemies? Reluctant comrades? You've certainly spent enough time insulting me and my homeland.” Dorian's dragging his fingernails lightly across Bull’s skin now, and it feels fucking amazing.

Bull is completely at sea. He frowns, trying to pinpoint where he messed up. But he can’t. It’s tangled, like the ropes of Dorian's tent back in Haven. Bull’s starting to feel a tendril of panic twist inside him.

“Something wrong?” Dorian asks, looking at Bull. There’s far too much confidence in that expression. It’s the look of a man who’s pocketed the Red Divine.

“Dorian,” Bull says. “You really think it's a good idea to pester an angry Qunari?”

“What, am I worried you're going to lash out and attack me? Like poking a sleeping bear?” Dorian slithers his body to lay on top of Bull. “Maybe that's exactly what I'm doing. Maybe I can't stop thinking about your threat to conquer. Maybe I'm hoping you'll finally do something about it.”

“You've done this before, have you?” Bull’s buying time.

“Not... as much as I’d like,” Dorian admits.

“Well the first rule is you don't do it angry.” Bull puts his hands on Dorian's hips, getting ready to shift the man so he can get up.

Utter, bleak disappointment washes across Dorian's face. But it's more than that. Almost despair, with a healthy dollop of self-loathing on top. Dorian's nodding, like it's no big deal, but his jaw is clenched tight. “Well I seem to have ruined things quite neatly. I'm ever so good at that.” He's got the look of a beaten slave, one that's started to believe he deserves it.

“Hey. Hey, Dorian. I didn't say no. I just can't do it now.” He hears the words come out of his mouth. Bull wishes they were a lie.

Dorian looks at him, way too much hope on his face. Damn, it's gorgeous. “Come back tonight. I'll see what I can do.”

Now Dorian's face is right, anticipation and relief fighting for control. Anticipation wins. “Tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I saw something about Halward abducting Dorian in a screenshot of World of Thedas Vol. 2? Also, I have no idea whether the Qunari share beds or not. Headcanon!
> 
> Also: venak hol = "wearying one"


	7. The Sea Drowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull tries to give Dorian what he wants. It doesn't go according to plan.

Once Dorian leaves, Bull sits on the edge of his bed. Things are pretty fucked. And it’s not like it was after Seheron. He can’t go back to the re-educators. When he’d turned himself in, they’d welcomed him. Soul-sickness was common, after all. Whatever was going on with him now, he was pretty sure he’d earned qamek at the least.

But the Ben-Hassrath aren’t here, are they? There's no way for the Qun to know how badly he’d lost control, unless he tells them himself. He can fix this. He can fix this, and he can get clarity for himself and Dorian at the same time. He just needs to be careful.

It all comes down to that look. The look that Dorian had when he thought Bull was turning him down. Regardless of what Bull wanted, the panicked anguish on Dorian's face made it clear that this was something the mage needed. There was no question about that. And that makes it okay. Because Bull would do the same for Evelyn, if she came to him. Or anyone, really. Well, except for that Cole guy. Gotta draw the line somewhere.

It’s a weak excuse, but Bull knows it’s weak. As long as he remembers how thin the ice is he’s skating on, it’ll be fine. He needs to maintain control. And for what Dorian needs, control is paramount.

It’ll be fine.

Dorian shows up later, right on time. It’s a good sign. He’s following directions, not trying to play games. He knocks and waits for Bull to call him in.

When Dorian walks in, he looks wary, and that's a good sign, too. Speaks to how seriously he’s taking it. Bull’s sitting on the bed. He doesn’t say anything, just watches as Dorian hovers by the door.

The mage takes a hesitant step closer, then stops. His hands are clenching and unclenching into fists.

Bull’s been thinking about this most of the day. Going back over that first night with Dorian. Bull had made a lot of mistakes. He can’t afford to do that again.

“Come here.” Bull says the words without inflection.

Dorian steps closer. He’s blinking fast; his breath is shallow.

Bull tilts his head. “You been thinking about this a while?”

Dorian opens his mouth to answer, then swallows hard and nods.

“That’s good. But there's a lot of ways this could go. If you’re gonna ask me to do this, you have to tell me exactly what you need,” Bull states.

Dorian's jaw is working as he tries to get a word out. It’s croaky; he clears his throat. “I... want you to make me.”

Bull expected something along those lines. “I can do that,” Bull nods. “And you're gonna try to stop me?”

Dorian swallows hard, but he nods.

Bull raises an eyebrow. “You sure about this?”

Dorian shifts his weight to one hip. “Look, can you do it or not?”

“Oh, I can do it. I just want to make sure you know there’s limits.” Bull looks at him another few seconds. “You have a watchword?”

Dorian shakes his head. Bull realizes he must be scowling, because the mage actually takes a half step backwards.

“Remind me when this is all over to find the assholes you’ve played with that didn’t make sure you were safe.” Bull takes a deep breath to reset. “My rules. You need me to stop, at any time -- if it hurts in the wrong way, or you’re scared in the wrong way -- you stop me. If you can speak, you say ‘katoh’, I stop. If you can’t speak, I’ll put something in your hand. You drop it, I stop. I ask you to say your watchword, that means I’m checking in, and I won’t _keep_ going until you say it. You understand?”

Dorian nods.

“What’s your watchword?”

“Katoh,” Dorian says, almost a whisper.

“Good.” Bull traces a finger along Dorian's jawline, gentle. Bull can feel the trembling under Dorian's skin. Damn, he’s gorgeous. Especially like this, with the anticipation flooding through him.

Bull stands as slowly as he can. He’d already removed his boots and knee brace, but his pauldron and trousers and belt he kept on. Just so he could take them off, slow, staring into Dorian's eyes as each article of clothing is dropped to the floor with a thud. Each sound brings a flicker to Dorian's eyes.

Bull’s naked. He brings a hand up, still staring at Dorian, and licks his palm. He strokes himself. He’s already half-hard; doesn’t take much to get him all the way there.

Dorian's having a hard time deciding where to look. He licks his lips.

When Bull’s hard, he stops stroking, his cock jutting out in front of him. He advances on Dorian, one step at a time. The mage backs up until he’s against the wall. His eyes are wide now, and he’s breathing fast.

“Watchword,” Bull says.

“Katoh.” It’s a whisper, a promise.

“You need to use it?”

Dorian shakes his head, no hesitation.

Bull’s breathing heavy too, and there’s something in his gut that blooms, unfurling heat deep into his belly. His hands shoot out, grabbing Dorian's wrists. He pins them over Dorian's head, holding both in one hand while the mage struggles. With his other hand he loosens the knots holding Dorian's tunic closed, tugging hard on the laces.

When it’s all the way open, Dorian's chest exposed, Bull runs his palm from Dorian's navel up to his neck. He grips Dorian's throat. Not applying any pressure, just holding it there. He can feel the mage’s pulse running fast. Slow, slow, he leans down and kisses Dorian.

Bull takes. He claims Dorian's mouth with his tongue and teeth. He barely needs to force anything; Dorian's so eager for it that he acquiesces almost immediately. Hearing Dorian's groan of pleasure makes Bull’s cock twitch.

Bull’s hand drifts down, pinching Dorian's nipple till he gasps, then twisting it till he squeals. Bull’s just breathing into Dorian's mouth by this point, swallowing the sounds. Damn. It’s fucking hot.

“I’m gonna fuck you.” Bull makes it clear this is a given. “I’m gonna hold you down, and press this cock into you, over and over, until I come.”

Dorian pulls against Bull’s hold on him. Bull laughs. Dorian tries harder. Bull tilts his head. “You really trying to stop me?”

Dorian sends a jolt of lightning through his skin. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but if he hadn’t been expecting it Bull might’ve dropped his hold just out of sheer surprise. He smiles. “Tingles.”

The shock happens again, more intense. Fuck, it feels good. Bull grunts and leans down to take another kiss, this time easing up to make it good for Dorian. The mage is bucking his hips forward in time to his moans.

Without warning Bull changes his hold, spinning the man around to face the wall. Bull reaches around to loosen the laces on Dorian's breeches. He rubs against the straining fabric, and Dorian bucks backwards this time.

The breeches get yanked down and Bull runs his free hand over Dorian's ass. “Damn,” he breathes. He presses against Dorian, the height difference meaning his cock is resting against the small of the man’s back. Still, he ruts, rubbing his length against Dorian's spine.

Fuck, he’s not gonna last like this. He shifts Dorian again, a flurry of limbs. The mage doesn’t make it easy, squirming and trying to pull away. Bull just laughs and shoves him towards the bed. He tumbles on to the mattress, his breeches tangled around his thighs.

Bull’s on him before he can roll over, pinning him with his whole body. He talks right into Dorian's ear. “You keep fighting me, might have to tie you down.”

There’s no mistaking the shudder that wracks through Dorian, a sign clearer than any that the mage wants just that.

So Bull gives it to him. Bull’s got rope already secured to the headboard; it’s a simple thing to loop it around Dorian's wrists, even with him squirming. The mage waits until Bull’s done to pull against the bonds.

“Watchword,” Bull says.

“Katoh,” Dorian says, once he swallows against his dry throat. “I don’t want to stop.”

Bull nods, then straddles Dorian, pinning his thighs to the bed. Dorian looks confused.

Bull reaches to the nightstand and pulls a bottle of oil. He slicks his cock, watching Dorian's face.

“I thought you were going to fuck me.” Dorian probably meant it as a taunt, but it comes out more like a plea.

Bull hums deep in his throat. “Oh, I will. But I want it to last. I wanna enjoy that ass for a long time. I wanna feel you come again and again.”

Dorian tries to buck his hips. Bull snorts. His strokes get faster, along with his breath. There’s almost no sound now, just their breathing and the noise that Bull’s fist makes against his cock.

With a grunt, Bull comes, spilling on Dorian's stomach. When he’s recovered, he scoops some of the liquid onto his fingers, then brings them up to Dorian's mouth.

Dorian forgets he’s supposed to be fighting, and licks Bull’s fingers clean, clearly relishing it. When Bull repeats the move, he holds his fingers just a little out of reach. Dorian tries to sit up, chasing after Bull's fingers like a starving man.

Bull takes a mental step back. It's obvious Dorian doesn't really want to wrestle for control; he wants to cede it. That's a different playbook. No wonder he was so eager to be tied down.

Once Bull’s fingers are clean, he leans down for a kiss. Dorian's relaxed now, and the kiss is slow and lazy. Bull could spend an hour just like this, but that's not what Dorian asked for. He sits up and gets off the bed.

The shiny breeches are peeled off, and Dorian’s finally naked. Bull takes a moment just to look, letting his eyes rove over Dorian's body. Bull wants to tell him how fucking beautiful he looks, but he bites the words back. Maybe some day. And then he stifles the thought. The future doesn’t matter. What matters is now.

Bull gets back on the bed, kneeling between Dorian's legs. He lifts one by the ankle, resting it on his shoulder. Dorian's apparently completely forgotten the game, because he doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t squirm when Bull brings a slicked finger down to stroke his cock. He doesn’t try to shy away when Bull drips more oil, letting it run down Dorian's balls and perineum. And he gasps and moans when Bull presses a finger against his entrance.

Bull's cock is starting to recover, helped along by the sounds that Dorian's making. He only teases at Dorian's prostate this time, keeping him just shy of the edge.

“Bull, please.” Dorian begs like he was made for it, breathy and flushed and sweating, and it’s the most perfect thing Bull’s seen in a long, long time. Bull fights back a shudder. This is getting too close to what he wants. He needs to tread carefully.

Bull shuts his eye and focuses on keeping his breathing steady. This isn’t about him. This is for Dorian.

When he opens his eye, Dorian's staring at him. “Let me suck you.”

“You calling the shots now?”

Dorian licks his lips. “Please?”

Fuck. Dorian couldn’t test Bull’s resolve any harder if he tried. “No,” is all Bull says.

Dorian groans and bucks against Bull’s hand. “Please,” and now it’s a whisper.

Bull doesn’t pull his hand away, but leans over, breathing heavy into Dorian's ear. “You don’t get to suck me until I say. You don’t get to do _anything,_ until I say.” He adds another finger, pressing in hard, feeling Dorian struggle to accommodate him.

The whimper that comes from Dorian's lips takes Bull’s breath away. His cock’s at attention now.

“Watchword,” Bull says.

“Ungh - katoh,” Dorian chokes it out.

Bull sits up, reaching for the oil. Dorian's hips are moving on their own, rhythmic, serpentine, and he’s biting his lip.

“Fuck, Dorian,” Bull looks down at the mage. “You’re so gorgeous.” The words come out before he can stop them.

Dorian pulls against the ropes, his head thumping back on the pillow. “Please, Bull. Please.”

Bull lines himself up, and pushes in. He and Dorian both moan, and Bull can’t seem to look away from Dorian's eyes. Dorian's unmasked, like he was the other night, vulnerable and wanting. The way that look shoots straight into Bull’s chest merges with the feeling of tight heat surrounding his cock.

And that's it. That's when Bull loses control. He can feel it happening, that part of him that's separate, watching himself make the mistake. Because he reaches for the ropes. He snaps them, easy, pulls Dorian up so the mage is sitting on Bull’s thighs, Bull’s arms cradling him tenderly.

They rock together, Dorian moaning continuously, Bull grunting at every thrust. This isn’t about giving Dorian what he asked for. This is about feeding that hunger Bull’s been denying.

Dorian doesn’t seem to know any of that. He’s rolling his hips, up and down, his forehead buried in Bull’s shoulder. “Bull, Bull, yes, that's so good, that's so good, yes, please, right there, Bull, please.” His words fall away, fewer and fewer, until he’s saying nothing but yes.

Bull’s hands are on his ass, guiding his movements, while Dorian's arms are looped over Bull’s shoulders. His fingernails grip the Qunari’s skin, digging in. Gently, Bull pulls Dorian's hand down and guides it to the mage’s cock.

Dorian leans back a bit to give himself room. This allows him to make eye contact with Bull, his hand twisting on his leaking cock, rhythmic yes after yes dropping from his mouth.

And then even that is too much, and Dorian gives a wordless moan, his eyes tight with effort. He slows down the motion of his hand, gritting his teeth.

Bull realizes Dorian's waiting. Waiting for Bull to give him permission. “Fuck,” Bull groans. “You wanna come?”

Dorian nods. Bull picks up the pace, thrusting faster, guiding Dorian up and down.

“Oh, fuck, Dorian, I want....” He grunts. Bull fights for command over his words. He tries to finish the thought, to say, _I want to feel your perfect ass clenching around my cock. I want you to come._ He might have lost control of the situation, but Dorian doesn’t have to know that.

Until he hears himself. Whatever he’d intended to say gets lost as the wave of his own orgasm begins to rush in. With every thrust, Bull’s repeating a phrase: _I want you. I want you. I want you._

Dorian's pumping himself, riding on Bull. He cries out, his thighs shaking as he comes on his hand and Bull’s stomach. The sensation yanks Bull over the edge. With a growling grunt, he empties himself into Dorian.

There’s a long minute of shuddering and breathing and not much else. Dorian's face is nestled into the crook of Bull’s neck, and somehow Bull is holding him around the waist and cradling the back of his head.

Unlike last time, Dorian makes no move to squirm away. If anything, he relaxes into Bull further. Bull’s never experienced such a sharp conflict. His body, his gut, wants nothing more than to stay in this moment forever. His mind is screaming at him, giving the re-educators a run for their money. There’s no room for this kind of struggle in the Qun.

It’s Bull that moves first. His knee is twinging, and the fight raging inside him is reaching an epic pitch.

Dorian fusses a bit as Bull lays him back down. It reminds him of the Fallow Mire, after Dorian commanded a battalion of undead and later clung to Bull for warmth. The pang in Bull’s stomach is almost painful.

To cover the moment, he gets up and goes to the washstand. He turns his back to Dorian, taking his time as he wipes himself off. Waves of loathing are smashing through him. Bull can keep his face under control, and it’s not like he talks a lot, so as long as he shuts up, he can probably hide it from Dorian.

“Bring me a cloth?” Dorian's voice floats over his shoulder, and Bull realizes he’s been standing in the corner for a long time. He dampens a towel and brings it over.

Dorian takes the cloth from Bull with a murmur of thanks. He gives no indication he’s going to get out of the bed.

Bull sits with his back to the mage. Bull feels the mattress shift as Dorian cleans himself up. After a moment the motion stills, but Bull doesn’t turn.

“All done,” Dorian says gently. “Everything all right?”

Fuck no, Bull wants to say. He should’ve stuck to the plan. He should’ve stayed in control. Instead he indulged himself, as if the distance from Par Vollen could insulate him. And he knows that's bullshit.

“Bull?” The concern in Dorian's voice rips at him.

Bull turns.

Dorian's frowning. “What’s wrong?”

Bull clears his throat. “That... didn’t exactly work out the way I thought it would.”

“Well you’ll get no complaints from me.” Dorian smiles gently.

“Yeah. Well. If we do it again, I gotta be more careful. Can’t fuck around with that stuff. I might hurt you.” Bull still hasn’t laid down.

Dorian pushes up to rest on his elbows, one eyebrow cocked skeptically. “I highly doubt that.” He’s still smiling.

Bull snorts. “Funny, a few months ago you would’ve sworn just the opposite.”

Dorian watches him for another moment, and then his smile starts to slide. “I’m sorry, am I keeping you from something?”

Before Bull can answer, Dorian shakes his head, incredulous. “You want me to leave, don’t you?”

Bull flinches. He wants just the opposite. He wants to lay down, curl himself around Dorian, protect him from everything outside of this room. “That’s not it.”

“What, then?” The challenge rings in Dorian's voice.

Bull winces, looking away. “It’s not a matter of what I want.”

“Then tell me what you need,” Dorian says quietly.

Bull scratches the base of his horns. He’s not sure he remembers what the words _want_ and _need_ even mean.

“You can’t, can you?” As sharp as Dorian's voice had been a second ago, now it’s soft.

“Dorian. Don’t. Just... don’t.”

“Is it because I’m from Tevinter?” Dorian sits up.

“Shit, no, that's not it. Just....” Bull growls a sigh.

He feels Dorian's hand ghost over his shoulder blade. It’s tentative. This was supposed to be about Dorian, about helping him. Yet here the man is, reaching so far out of his comfort zone, trying to help Bull. And making it all that much worse.

“I’ll go,” Dorian whispers.

“No.” Bull barks. “Stay. I’m fine.”

And then Dorian laughs. A real laugh, no bitterness, no sarcasm, no edge. Just a full-bodied laugh, the kind that ignites a room.

Bull catches it. He’s laughing too. “What’s so funny?” He manages to say, turning around to look at Dorian.

“You. Me.”

“Yeah.” The tail end of the laughter works its way through Bull. “Yeah.”

He slides himself into the bed alongside Dorian. The mage immediately wraps around him, snaking his limbs like a vine around Bull’s body.

Bull lets out a deep breath. Somehow Dorian’s laughter snapped him out of the panic, gave him some perspective. Shit, they were facing down a thousand year old darkspawn magister trying to enter the fade. All that Bull had done was sleep with a ‘Vint. And yeah, he’d enjoyed it way too much, but so the fuck what. He still has a chance to take a step back.

Tomorrow. He’ll take a step back tomorrow.


	8. Ebb and Flow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull doesn't work well with confusion.

This is good, Bull decides. Beautiful blue sky, nice cold breeze, and his boys marching through the melting snow. They’re on their way to Haven, to check out whatever’s left. Evelyn had gone to Crestwood, giving Bull and his boys a chance to head out on their own.

Just like old times, Bull thinks as he hears them trailing along behind him, laughing and joking and roughhousing with each other.

“Dalish, why don’t you take down that ram?” Rocky smirks through his moustache. “C’mon, you’re an elf. One arrow. Get us some fresh meat for the trip.”

“All out of arrows,” Dalish called out over her shoulder. It’s what she always says, and Bull smiles to hear it.

They make camp that night. Stitches leads them in a round of song, probably the first of several. It’s the first time they’ve been out of Skyhold since the shitshow at Haven. Maybe it’s finally hitting them, what’s happened, what’s happening. Bull’s proud to see them staring down the end of the world. But then again, he’s always proud of them.

He gets up and stretches his legs. The cold settles into his knee faster these days. Bull wanders away, staring back the way they came, the last glow of the setting sun barely visible.

When the singing stops, he turns back.

“Ooo-ooh,” Skinner mocks him. “Missing your prissy ‘Vint?”

“Fuck you,” Bull laughs. But the laugh is a cover. He didn’t realize they’d noticed.

“Personally, I’m offended,” Krem says, imitating Dorian's accent so closely that everyone bursts into laughter. “Who knew the Chief had a taste for ‘Vint ass?”

“That why you got those new greaves?” Rocky winks.

Bull’s still laughing. “The prissy ‘Vint picked out those greaves, Krem.”

“Oh, so you send him shopping?” Skinner’s eyes narrow to slits. The mood shifts in an instant.

“I didn’t _send_ him anywhere. He did me a favor.” Bull’s serious now. Leading a merc company, he’s had his fair share of experience with his guys testing his authority. But this feels different.

“Ohhh. A favor,” Skinner says, and her eyes are hard. “The _magister’s_ doing you a _favor._ So you owe him, do you?”

Bull doesn’t frown. But he does raise an eyebrow and tilt his horns. “He’s not a magister. And he’s got as much at stake as any of the rest of us.”

“Riiiiight,” Skinner says. “It’s gonna be _so_ tough for him to go back to his fancy palace once this is all over. What suffering. What sacrifice.”

Bull snorts. “That what you think? You know he joined on the back of a turnip wagon? He’s got fuck-all. Shit, you make more money than he does.”

“Is there something wrong with that? Why shouldn’t I?” Skinner stands up, and that's not good.

“Skinner,” Krem says, a warning in his voice.

“All I’m saying is, who remembers the last time Chief spent two nights in a row with the same person? Anyone?” Skinner looks around. No one says anything.

Bull crosses his arms. “What are you saying, Skinner? Since I hit that a couple times, I’m in his pocket? It ever occur to you it’s the other way around? Maybe I’m trying to keep him close, where I can keep an eye on him? You know I only have the one.”

The joke falls flat, smashed by the tension. Skinner takes a step closer. “Yeah? So close he needs to sleep in your quarters? It even occur to you he’s a honeypot?”

The concept is beyond ridiculous. There's something else going on here, something beyond Skinner’s issues with magisters. “Given that usually I’m the honeypot, yeah, I’m familiar with the concept, thanks.” There’s not much he can say that won’t sound patronizing, so he shuts up. The silence grows between them.

Bull gives it a long moment. “Anyone else have a problem with who I’m fucking?”

No one speaks. “Good. Because I got my eye on Seeker Cassandra next, and I don’t want Dalish to shoot me with one of her arrows. Oh... wait.”

Everyone laughs, and the night goes on. But Bull doesn’t stop thinking about it, even when he’s lying in his tent, hands laced behind his head. Damn. He hadn’t realized his boys had noticed. Maybe Krem was telling tales. Not that Bull’s gonna stop him. Krem is the best second-in-command Bull’s ever had, and part of that is gossiping with the boys. On a job, sure, it was always fodder around the campfire. Everyone loves to talk about where the boss is sticking it. But Skyhold was a big place, and they were spread out. Maybe that was part of the problem. Bull had been spending most of his time out with the Inquisitor on field missions. Easy to lose touch.

Yeah. That's the problem. Skinner’s not mad that he banged a ‘Vint. She’s mad because he’s no longer exclusively theirs. Bull relaxes. It’ll be fine. Nothing that spending some time on a job wouldn’t fix. Right? That must be it. Maybe he’ll talk to Evelyn when they get back. See if she can’t free him up to do more with the Chargers.

The job itself goes well. There’s a few pitched battles with bandits, nothing the Chargers can’t handle in their sleep. They round up some loot, find a few refugees. By the time they get back to Skyhold, he and the Chargers are back to normal.

They trickle into the tavern that night, and Bull buys the first few rounds. The jokes come easy, the ale is flowing, and their songs drown out that Orlesian bard.

It’s good. It’s more than good. Bull can’t stop grinning as he watches the Chargers. He’s never had a family, but this has got to be better. Hell, if Dorian's any example, families can be some pretty messed up bullshit.

It’s the first time Bull’s thought about Dorian since they've gotten back. And of course that's when Dorian walks in, on the heels of Varric and that demon-kid-thing, Cole. And Cullen.

That's a surprise. Bull’s talked with the Commander a few times. Good man. Surprising that an ex-Templar would want to spend time with a mage, but maybe he’s branching out.

Bull gives the group a nod, but he keeps his seat. Tonight’s about him and the Chargers.

Evelyn shows up, too, and she grins ear to ear when she sees Bull. She heads straight to the bar and leans over to talk to Cabot, who heads into the back room. Then she walks up to Bull and the Chargers. Bull raises an arm and she wedges herself into the gap. “How was Haven?”

Krem snorts. “You did quite a number on it with those trebuchets, Inquisitor.”

“You know me. I’m subtle.” Evelyn winks.

Cabot walks up and plonks a pair of bottles down on the table. Antivan brandy.

Bull raises his eyebrows. “That for us?”

Evelyn laughs. “Of course. Thanks for sorting out Haven.”

The Chargers cheer the Inquisitor, and she gives them an elaborate bow before heading back to Dorian and the others.

The night wears on. Bull’s attention drifts to the table by the door, where Dorian sits with Evelyn and the others. Not like he can’t watch without being obvious. It’s what he does.

Dorian doesn’t exactly make it hard, drawing attention to himself. He’s clearly in a good mood, laughing loud, patting Cullen on the shoulder, rubbing his hand on Cullen’s back, pouring Cullen's wine.

Bull’s relieved, in a way. Takes the pressure off. Bull had worried that Dorian had gotten attached to him. Given the way he's flirting with Cullen, that might not be the case. But it's good. It's fine.

Perfectly, perfectly fine.

Fatigue slams into Bull suddenly. He drains the last of his ale and stands.

“No,” Krem says. “You’re joking. Already?”

Bull stretches. “Krem, if I don’t get some horn balm on these babies, they’re gonna crack right off. Don’t let Grim drink all the brandy.”

Bull heads up to his room. He roots through his storage chest, looking for the tin of balm. He finds it, but he finds something else, too. A worn, unmarked book.

He sets the balm by the fire to warm up. With a heavy sigh, Bull rests his back on the headboard and opens the book.

His fingers find the page they always find. Funny, he’s been reading this exact page for, what? Thirty years now? It’s stained with blood and grime and some splotches of water which may or may not have been tears. Hard to say. They’re the newest addition, those spots. They weren’t there when he turned himself in to the re-educators. He doesn’t remember reading while they had him, but there’s a lot he doesn’t remember from that time.

Sometimes when he reads, his eye just skims over the words, not really seeing them, just drawing comfort from the book itself. Not today. Today each line, each word, sear into him like a brand. And for the first time, he feels like maybe there’s something he missed. The words mean what they mean, but it’s like seeing a reflection of a reflection.

There’s a knock, on the door from the tavern. “Yeah,” Bull calls out.

The door opens, and it’s Dorian. He leans in the doorframe, arms crossed.

Bull pays close attention to his own reaction. There’s a lot in there. Relief, excitement, anticipation, annoyance. There’s more, but that's all he can identify on the fly. “You coming in?”

“Am I?” Dorian smirks.

Bull snorts, turning his attention back to his book.

Dorian comes in, closing the door behind him.

“Might wanna lock that,” Bull says without looking up.

“Aren’t _we_ presumptuous?” Dorian mocks, though he goes ahead and flicks the latch. “I have to say, I didn’t expect you to be reading.”

“Waiting for the horn balm to warm up.” Bull nods toward the fire.

Dorian picks up the tin and examines the label. “So. What’s got the Iron Bull so enraptured?”

“Wisdom of the Qun.”

“Well you can’t very well read that and use this. It’ll smudge the pages,” Dorian says as he clambers on to the bed. “Go on. Budge up.”

With an annoyed noise, Bull scoots forward on the bed, and Dorian slots himself into the space like a key in a lock. Bull hears the lid on the tin pop and the characteristic smell of beeswax and eucalyptus wafts forward.

When Dorian slides his hand over one horn, Bull groans. It’s warm, way warmer than it should be, and with the cooling effect from the balm itself, the combination is incredible. “Fuck, Dorian, how are you doing that?”

Dorian continues to work the balm into Bull’s horns. “Do you think there’s a mage alive who hasn’t learned to heat and cool his own hand?”

It’s intimate in a way that Bull’s never experienced. It’s not sexual, at least not overtly, though it’s certainly sensual. It’s really only one step away from something a healer would do, or a masseur. Still, it’s not like Stitches would be quite so thorough in working in a poultice.

“So. Wisdom from the Qun, eh? Something you can translate, or is it ineffable?” Dorian starts in on the other horn.

“Well, it’s all bullshit, really,” Bull bluffs.

“Like the Chant?”

“Hey. Don’t make me go there.” Bull laughs.

“So, I take it that's a no on the translation. And here I am so skillfully applying this balm.”

With a snort, Bull flips ahead a few pages.

“Wait, why are you flipping?”

“You want me to read the one about locusts?” Bull deflects. He can’t bring himself to read that one. He _needs_ that canto. It’s all that's holding him together. He can’t share it. Not with Dorian. Not now.

“Perhaps not.” Dorian agrees.

“Uh....” Bull tries to pick something to read.

Huffing a sigh, Dorian reaches over and jabs a finger at whatever page is open. “There. Read that one.”

“Why all this curiosity?” Bull resists the urge to turn his head; he’ll clock Dorian with a horn if he’s not careful.

“I’m fostering Tevinter-Qunari relations,” Dorian sniffs. “Read.”

“Pushy,” Bull grunts. He looks at the page. Fuck. Of course Dorian would pick this one. “It’s the Body Canto.” He clears his throat and translates:

 

> _Tonight, in the desert, with emptiness all around,_
> 
> _The sky, endless, the earth, desolate,_
> 
> _Before my eyes the contradiction opened like a night-blooming flower._
> 
> _Emptiness is an illusion. Beneath my feet,_
> 
> _Grains of sand beyond counting._
> 
> _Above my head, a sea of stars._
> 
> _Alone, they are small,_
> 
> _A faint and flickering light in the darkness,_
> 
> _A lost and fallen fragment of earth._
> 
> _Alone, they make the emptiness real._
> 
> _Together, they are the bones of the world._
> 
> _Solitude is illusion. Alone in the darkness,_
> 
> _I was surrounded on all sides._
> 
> _The starlight dripped from the petals_
> 
> _Of cactus flowers,_
> 
> _A chorus of insects sang across the dunes._
> 
> _How much abundance the world carries_
> 
> _If every fistful of sand_
> 
> _Is an eternity of mountains._

After Bull finishes, he realizes Dorian's hands aren’t moving. They’re resting on his shoulders, Dorian's body pressed up against him. Bull can feel Dorian breathing.

“Bull, that's beautiful.” Dorian sounds pained.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.” There’s a pause, and Bull needs to see Dorian's face, but he can’t turn around.

“You’re right,” Dorian says at once, utterly sincere. “I apologize.”

There’s more in his voice than there should be. Not for the first time, Bull feels like Dorian's having a different conversation, responding to something Bull didn’t say.

Dorian slides himself out from behind Bull. His face is just as fraught as his words were. There’s concern in there, and admiration, and something that looks suspiciously like sympathy. Before Bull can pick it apart, Dorian smiles. “How’re the horns?”

Bull runs his hand over them, skull to tip. “Nice. Very nice.”

“Good.” Dorian wipes his palms together and stands up.

“Going somewhere?”

Dorian shrugs. “You seem pretty engrossed in your book. And I’ve taken enough of your time. I only stopped in to say hello.”

“Need to get back to Cullen?” Fuck. Why did he ask that?

With a snort, Dorian rolls his eyes. “You know, I try to do a good deed, and look what happens.”

Bull blinks. “Good deed?”

“For Evelyn. I'm trying to get Cullen to make his move, but he can barely get three words out without stammering. I swear he’s going to swallow his own tongue.” Dorian puts his hands on his hips.

“What happened to Blackwall?”

Dorian raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were supposed to be the observant one? That's dead and gone. Gave her some idiotic line about it not being possible, up on the battlements a few months ago.”

“Idiot. The Inquisitor is fucking amazing. Talented, funny, strong. You don't just toss that aside.” Bull sets the book on his night stand.

Dorian tilts his head. “Are you interested in her, then?” He doesn’t seem jealous, but Bull can tell Dorian’s very interested in the answer by the way his body tensed up.

“Nah,” Bull waved Dorian off. “She doesn’t need me.”

Bull realizes too late he should’ve added something to the end of that sentence. Dorian raises his eyebrows. _“That’s_ what gets your blood pumping? _Neediness?_ How delightful.” Dorian crosses his arms, as if Bull couldn’t already hear how sour his words were.

“No, that's not -” Bull shakes his horn and growls. “It’s not about what I want.”

Dorian's face softens. “What, then?”

Rolling his shoulders, Bull pinches the bridge of his nose. This is not how he wanted to spend his evening. All of the satisfaction of his time with the Chargers is fading. “I don’t expect a ‘Vint to understand.”

“Oh, yes, because I’m only interested in self-indulgence. Clearly, my feeble brain can’t comprehend the concept of sacrifice.” Dorian snaps.

Bull swings his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed. “You _really_ don’t get it. There is no ‘sacrifice’ in the Qun. That implies you have something to give up. And you have nothing. No desires of your own. _Asit tal-eb._ It is to be. The Qun needed a brain, so I became Ben-Hassrath. The Chargers needed a leader, so I became Iron Bull. That's all I am. There’s no ‘me’, Dorian. I don’t even have a fucking name. I’m a brain or a set or arms or a cock, depending on the needs of the Qun. And yeah, if I happen to enjoy it, that's great, but it’s irrelevant.”

Bull wipes his eyes as says the words, running his thumb under the eyepatch. He can hear the lack of conviction. He’s grown weak. How many mistakes has he already made? He’s starting to lose count.

When Dorian doesn’t say anything, Bull looks up. Dorian's arms are still crossed. “You would have stayed, if you were in my place. You would have stayed and gotten married and spent the rest of your life screaming on the inside.” It’s an accusation.

Bull can see he’s shaking, though it’s hard to tell if it’s rage or sadness or what. “I’d like to think the Qun wouldn’t put me in that position. They try to put everyone where they’re supposed to be, where they can fulfill their potential. But, yeah. Yeah. I’d have stayed. And I would’ve hated it.” Dorian opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but Bull talks over him. “And when it got to be too much, and I couldn’t see the point in waking up every day, I’d turn myself in, to the re-educators. Just like I did last time.”

Dorian's mouth closes with an audible ‘clop’. The pent-up tirade drains away. “You turned yourself in?”

Bull nods. “After Seheron.”

Dorian's jaw is working hard. He takes a deep breath, his nostrils pinched. “And here I thought I was strong. Perhaps I need to revise my definition.”

Bull can’t think of anything to say to that. He’s still trying when Dorian closes the distance between them. “Do you want me to leave? I did rather barge in on you.”

He’s standing in front of Bull, close enough to touch. Bull just doesn’t know. What to say, what to do. Shit, he’s barely got a handle on his thoughts. So he does what he always does when he needs more information. He shuts the hell up and watches.

Dorian doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Maybe I’m asking the wrong question. Seeing as how you did say it’s not about what you want.”

Bull looks at him. It’s too complicated. There’s just too much happening, and Bull needs simplicity right now. It’s all a swirl of crap, and he’s trying to find the words to say it when Dorian shifts the weight on his feet. Bull thinks he might be about to turn and leave, until he does something that cuts through all the bullshit, all the static, and suddenly everything’s rendered in crisp black and white.

Because Dorian kneels down in front of him.

Dorian's looking up at him with a strange expression on his face: anticipation, admiration, sympathy. “You know what I need. And I know you just happen to enjoy giving it to me. Neat coincidence, that. So. How about you tell me what we’re doing.”

Bull winces against the lust that uncoils in his gut. It’s semantics. Bull tried that excuse last time, and he’d lost control. Thing is, turning Dorian down won’t do shit to make the lust boiling through him go away. Not when the mage is kneeling so patiently, head down, hands on his knees. Damn.

The silence expands. “What if I don’t give you what you need? What if I tell you to go?” Bull lies to see what Dorian will do. He already knows he's not going to tell Dorian to leave. Not with his own dick already half-hard, twitching under the fabric of his trousers.

Dorian sees it. He looks up through his lashes without raising his head. His voice is quiet and intent. “You want instead I should go back to my quarters? I’ll bet anything that as soon as I walk out that door, you’ll go downstairs and find someone else. That redhead, maybe, or someone new. And you’ll bring them up here and let them take what they need from you. I have a very vivid imagination. I can picture dozens of scenarios. I’ll be laying there, aching, wanting so badly to get myself off. I’ll have to lay on my back so I’m not tempted to grind on my sheets. Because that night, when you gave me permission? I’ve never been so sure of what I need until then. And that's for you to take control. So, in a way, I’ll still get it, whether I’m here or not.”

“Fuck,” Bull breathes. Lightning fast he reaches out and grabs Dorian, lifting him under the shoulders and throwing him face down on the bed. Gently, of course. He puts a hand on the center of Dorian's back, holding him. “What’s your watchword?”

“Katoh,” Dorian says at once.

“Do you need to use it?”

“No.”

With a grunt of approval, Bull lifts Dorian's hips. The mage complies with the movement without resistance, resting his weight on his knees and shoulders, his face pressed into the pillow.

Bull doesn’t bother removing the breeches all the way, just tugging them down to pool around Dorian's thighs. He presses those legs apart, as far as they’ll go, then uses his hands to spread Dorian's ass cheeks.

When Bull’s tongue laps at his entrance, Dorian howls into the mattress. It’s loud even with the muffling of the fabric, and his thighs tense up in surprise. But he doesn’t move or shy away.

“Damn, you taste good,” Bull growls the words into Dorian's flesh. He’s biting and licking and he can’t get enough. When he spanks Dorian's ass, he gets a stream of babbled nonsense in Tevene.

“Watchword.” Bull says, something close to a prayer, because damn does he want to do that again.

“Katohpleasedon’tstop.”

“Oh _fuck_ yes.” Bull gives another couple of licks and then kneels up.

He starts off light; it seems like Dorian's been spanked before, but it’s hard to tell. Bull alternates one side and the other, and Dorian gasps after each. When the skin’s getting pink, Bull slows down, each slap a bit firmer.

Dorian's body is repulsing after each smack, just the tiniest bit, but then his muscles relax. The gasps become words: _yes_ and _please_ and best of all _yes please._

Bull doesn’t push, not tonight. When Dorian squeals and collapses on to the bed, Bull stops, regardless of how fast Dorian rears back up for more. He flips Dorian to his back and sinks down, wrapping his lips around Dorian's straining cock.

“Fuck - Bull - what -” Dorian's trying to sit up, push Bull away. Bull reaches a hand up, pressing a hand to the center of Dorian's chest.

Bull’s no stranger to sucking cock. He lets himself enjoy it. And there’s a lot to enjoy. The way Dorian tastes, the way he bucks up into Bull’s mouth, the sounds he’s making are fucking incredible. And that's before Dorian starts to beg.

He reaches up and grabs Dorian's hands, putting them on his horns. He’d meant it to allow Dorian to guide the movements of his head, but instead Dorian twists his hands, and now it’s Bull moaning.

Dorian's hands are running hot, then cold, and then holy hell, there’s _sparks_ running through Bull’s horns. Bull’s growling, his hips bucking, and he’s that much closer to losing control. Again.

So he speeds things up. He pulses his tongue along the underside of Dorian's cock, massaging his perineum. Dorian starts to whine, and damn, it is hot. Bull doesn’t relent. It’s not long before Dorian spills into his mouth.

Bull gives Dorian about ten seconds to recover before he rears up on to his knees. “Mouth. Now.”

If Bull thought Dorian's little hot-cold trick felt good on his horns, it feels fucking incredible on his cock, especially combined with Dorian's talented tongue. Bull doesn’t bother trying to hold himself back or make it last. A minute later he’s coming down Dorian's throat.

The whole thing took less than ten minutes. And it’s even less before Dorian's asleep, awash with contentment, his face as placid as his breath.

There’s something inside Bull, a sensation he can’t identify. Not because he doesn't know what it is, but because even naming it is too dangerous. And worse, he can no longer take a step back, observe himself. It’s all jumbled up, like the emotion is everywhere, a predator he can't escape. So instead, his mind wraps back to the familiar canto, the one he was reading when Dorian walked in. He repeats the last two lines to himself over and over, trying to bring order from chaos, to resuscitate his devotion to himself, his devotion to the Qun. Because it's the same thing, isn't it?

_A self of suffering, brings only suffering to the world._

_It is a choice, and we can refuse it._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Like, "tenth Doctor standing in the rain gif" sorry. There's some angst coming up, everybody. Er, more angst.
> 
> Oh and! The Body Canto is from the dragon age codex.
> 
> AND AND AND NOW WITH AWESOME SKETCH!!!! BY LONICERA_CAPRIFOLIUM!!!


	9. Crumble and Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull makes a hard choice.

Three times.

Three times, Bull has fallen asleep with Dorian pressed up to him, the ‘Vint greedy for body heat. Three times Bull has watched Dorian come undone in Bull’s hand or mouth, that moment of exquisite vulnerability shining like a bead of sweat. Three times, the unease has gnawed away at Bull, the push-pull of duty and desire throwing him off balance.

Despite the reputation for ruthlessness, the Qun is forgiving. To a point. Once is a mistake. Twice is confirmation. But three times? Three times is betrayal. For once, sleep has brought a bit of clarity. He knows what he needs to do.

Dorian's eyes flutter open, accompanied by a deep breath. He stretches himself, muscles going taut before relaxing again. “I have to say, I never thought I’d wake up in a Qunari’s bed twice.” He swivels his head to look up at Bull, his chin digging into Bull’s chest.

“Three times,” Bull corrects him. “You’re forgetting the Fallow Mire.”

“So I am,” Dorian agrees. “Though that hardly counts.”

Dorian sits up and begins retrieving his clothes. “I’m so glad you repaired your roof. I hate waking up cold.”

Bull grunts noncommittally.

“Are you all right?” Dorian pulls his trousers on. “Don’t tell me I snore.”

Bull huffs a laugh. “No.”

“What, then?”

Bull sits up, pulling the blanket up to at least cover his crotch. “I’m not sure we should do this again.”

Bull once saw a giant spider suck all the blood out of a nug, until the husk collapsed in on itself. Dorian's doing a good imitation of that hapless nug. He sags, stumbling and catching himself on the bedpost, all the light behind his eyes extinguished.

Bull hadn’t expected this. Shit. He’d expected Dorian to argue, to tell Bull he’s being stupid or short-sighted. But he doesn’t. Dorian just closes his eyes, squeezing them tight like a child, trembling as he holds tight to the bed.

Bull’s struck by the odd sensation that Dorian's reacting to something else. After a moment, Dorian forces his eyes open. He blinks a few times and gulps a lungful of air. Nodding, he shrugs on his tunic and jams his feet into his boots.

“Dorian?”

“Yes, what is it?” His voice is quiet. Almost calm, but for the quiver.

“You’re a lot more upset than I was expecting.”

Dorian stops fiddling with his boots for a moment, but doesn’t look at Bull. “You thought I wasn’t taking this seriously.”

“Well, yeah, kinda. I mean....” There’s no way to finish the sentence without coming dangerously close to admitting that Bull _is_ taking it seriously, so he lets it drop.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Dorian mutters. He settles his foot into his boot and strides out.

Over time it becomes obvious, at least to Bull, that Dorian asked the Inquisitor to not assign them to the same field missions. Because suddenly Bull sees a lot of Madame du Fer. Not that he minds working with her; she’s a hell of a mage. And the first (and last) time Bull made the mistake of calling her “Viv”, she shot him a look that he hadn’t seen since his tama caught him trying to avoid eating his vegetables. It was comforting, in a terrifying kind of way.

But it’s not the same. The first week or two Bull caught himself thinking of jokes to tell Dorian, only to remember that, yeah, he’s not likely to run into him anytime soon. And he kept catching glimpses of Dorian poring over a book in the library, frowning in concentration as he twirled a lock of hair between his fingers. Or at the chess table with Cullen, hand poised over the board, a flirtatious twist to his smile.

Each of these little moments was like a papercut or an infected sliver, a tiny wound with outsized pain, serving to remind Bull that he’d fucked up. But it was fine. Good, even. Bull wasn’t scared of pain, after all, and the discomfort was a reminder that he’d done the right thing. He only wishes he’d done it sooner, before Dorian had gotten so invested.

Bull had just rode back into the keep from a mission to the Emerald Graves. It’s good to be back. Bull’s looking forward to a hot bath. He’s not a stickler for hygiene, but after a couple weeks of being on the road, it’s definitely time.

In the corridor outside the baths, Bull pauses. There’s a scent lingering in the air that slams into his gut, bringing up a sharp memory of the last time he was with Dorian. The mage must be in there; no one else uses those bath oils.

Bull’s hovering by the entrance, trying to decide whether to enter or not, when he hears Dorian call out. “You might as well come in, Bull.”

He sees his shadow reflected on the inside wall of the chamber. Not like anyone would mistake his silhouette. So Bull goes in.

Dorian's in one of the tubs, steam wafting the scented oils into the air. “How were the Emerald Graves?” Dorian asks, his voice neutral. There’s a heaviness in the tone that wasn’t there before. Dorian's voice always rang with emotion of some sort; now he sounds muffled, subdued.

Still, Bull keeps it light. “Woodsy. Sera kept shooting arrows into the back of Vivienne’s hennin. At one point she had like four sticking out at the same time. I thought she was gonna freeze Sera solid just by glaring at her.” Dorian laughs at that, and even though the sound’s not as joyful as it used to be, Bull manages to smile back.

The laughter fades into silence. Before it really settles, Dorian rouses himself. “Well. I must go. I’ve got an ex-Templar to beat at chess.” He rises from the water and steps out.

Bull had forgotten just how fucking beautiful Dorian is. He’s perfect. Damn.

Bull busies himself with pumping water into the large basin while Dorian towels off. He’s never been one to talk just to fill space, so he doesn’t say anything. After the sound of footsteps recedes; Dorian's leaving.

“Hey. Hey, Dorian,” Bull calls after him.

Dorian stops at the doorway but doesn’t turn, just looks over his shoulder.

“You been good?” Bull’s not even sure why he’s asking.

“I’m _always_ good.” Dorian's lip twitches, a pantomime of a smile, and he walks out.

Bull scrubs himself swift and hard, not bothering to heat the water. He scrapes at his skin with the rough cloth, weeks of accumulated dust and dirt and remnants of dried blood rinsing away. There’s clean, and then there’s sanctified, and Bull’s treating this bath like it can save him from himself.

***

The one good thing about this whole Halamshiral shitshow is getting to see Josie so happy. Granted, she doesn’t look happy as she frets and fusses and rushes hither and thither. But Bull can see the woman is deeply satisfied, down to her bones. She has the Asala-Taashath, the calm soul, the kind of existence which can only be achieved when fulfilling one’s highest purpose. Or so the Tamassrans told him. They also told him that it could only be achieved in service to the Qun, but Bull had never believed that part. The proof was right in front of him, in this Antivan spitfire, giving them all their final once-overs and instructions before they infiltrate Halamshiral.

He’d made the mistake of saying that aloud to Leliana. Josie winced. “For the last time, Iron Bull, you are not _infiltrating._ You are a _guest_ at a _party._ You are there to _enjoy_ the hospitality of the Duchess.”

Bull winks at Leliana, who is listening to Josie’s tirade with the patient expression of someone who’s heard it a thousand times. With a perfectly calm expression, she winks back.

“It is important!” Josie said. It looked like she had a hard time refraining from stamping her foot. It was fucking adorable.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. No spy-talk.” Bull smiles.

Bull knows there’s very little he can say or do in that palace that’ll affect the Inquisition. None of the Orlesians expect him to be anything more than a brute, so that's all they’ll see. Shit, he could recite _The Heir of Verchiel_ in old Orlesian and they’d still think he’s a moron.

Still, this kind of invisibility has advantages, and Bull plans to use them. After the introductions, Evelyn circles through the palace, looking for information. Cole’s probably with her, somewhere. Bull finds the food and plants himself by the table. Hey, if they expect him to have no tact, he might as well give ’em what they want, right? Plus they have this cheese dip that's fucking delicious.

Evelyn comes around after an hour. She needs backup, and no one’s going to notice Bull’s gone. Or if they do, they’ll just assume he’s taking a shit or banging a maid or something, not infiltrating the palace.

As Evelyn walks away, she mutters “Get Dorian, too. He’s in the garden.”

Now that is a surprise. Vivienne’s too high-profile - the Orlesians would notice she was missing in a heartbeat. But given the choice between Solas and Dorian, Bull would choose the elf. Dorian grew up in the court. By now he should have half the people there wrapped around his little finger. Surely someone would spot his absence?

Still -- not his call. Bull heads to the garden and it only takes one glance to see why Evelyn asked for the Tevinter. Dorian's practically melting into the topiary, despite his scarlet uniform. He’s standing by the fountain being ignored by the Orlesians like it’s his job.

He’s got an empty glass in his hand, which is just more proof that he’s persona non grata; the butlers are everywhere. The fact he can’t get a refill means even the servants are overlooking him.

Dorian's staring into the water, lost in thought. Shit, it’s gotta be hard for him, to be so ostracized in this kind of environment. Bull hadn’t talked much to Dorian directly, but he’d heard the mage speaking to others on the journey about how much he was looking forward to this.

Bull sees Dorian’s expression is calm, but there’s a gloss of sadness that rips a hole straight through Bull’s chest. The familiar urge to soothe, to protect, is back and with a vengeance, making his fingers twitch.

And it gets worse, because at that moment Dorian happens to look up. It’s only a fraction of a second before Dorian gets his face under control. But it’s long enough for Bull to catch a glimpse. Bull’s seen Dorian a lot of different ways: laughing, crying, in the throes of ecstasy or rage, sleeping, upset, vulnerable. Now, when he looks up and sees Bull, he’s got the look of a man who’s lost everything. He’s lost his family, his friend, his mentor, his homeland. And he’s lost Bull.

It feels like someone set off a bomb in Bull’s chest. He actually stumbles a little. Damn. He’d hoped that at least one of them would be doing better by now. Fuck, it’d been almost two months. For the first time, Bull wonders if maybe he made a mistake.

Just a flash, and the expression is gone, replaced by a bored smile that doesn’t quite hit Dorian's eyes. “Hello, Bull. Come to spend some time with the pariah? You’ll have to get your own drinks, I’m afraid.”

Bull smiles back, pretending he didn’t catch that look, and it’s one of the biggest lies he’s ever told. “Came to see if you’d like to stretch your legs inside. They’ve got these spicy nuts in there. I think you’ll like ‘em.” All of the members of the inner circle have been briefed, so Dorian gets the unspoken message that he’s needed elsewhere.

“Spicy nuts, you say?” Dorian feigns interest. “I can’t say no to that.”

Bull and Dorian meet the Inquisitor and sneak through the palace. There’s a few fights with Venatori, and it’s a good thing, because it relieves some of the tension. Though even that is bittersweet. It wasn’t until he heard Dorian laugh and shout “I could do this all day!” that Bull realized how much he missed fighting together. Vivienne, for all her power and finesse, was as cold as the ice she cast. Bull missed Dorian's exuberance.

Evelyn’s looting the corpses of some Venatori when that Cole kid speaks, staring off into the distance. “You’re hurting because you think it won’t happen. But it did, and it is, and it will,” Cole says at one point.

“Thank you, Cole, that will be quite enough.” The satisfied smile slides off Dorian's face. He sighs. “Are we ready to move on, Inquisitor?”

She nods. “I know enough of what’s going on. We’d better get back to the ball.” Bull notices how drawn her face is. Something’s wrong.

Before they re-enter the ballroom, Bull puts a hand on her elbow. “Boss. You seem a little shaken. Take a minute. You go in looking like that, these mask-lickers will be all over you.”

Evelyn nods and takes a shaky breath. “I’m not cut out for this. Killing people. It’s.... it’s one thing when it’s battle, but this?”

“What do you mean?” Dorian frowns.

Evelyn wipes her forehead. “Cullen and a few of the others are urging me to let Celene be assassinated. Put Gaspard on the throne, with Briala behind him. It makes sense, I know it, but... damn,” she swears, and Bull sees her hands are shaking. “How can I just stand aside and let someone die? I might as well stab her myself.”

Before Bull can say anything, Dorian takes her by the shoulders. “Listen. You can’t think about it that way. You think what’s going on in that ballroom is any different from a battle? It’s precisely the same thing, just spread out over a longer time. And indecision in there will be just as deadly as it would have been in that skirmish a few moments ago.”

Evelyn nods. “You’re right. Of course. You’re exactly right. What would I do without you, Dorian?” She laughs, a breathy sound of relief.

“Pray you never have to find out,” Dorian smiles. As she passes by him to enter the ballroom, her shoulders thrown back and her chin lifted, his eyes flicker to Bull and then away.

The evening unfolds, climaxing with violence, and then drifting back to dancing. Because what else are you going to do at an Orlesian ball, really?

Bull’s wandering the gardens. Now that the action’s over, he’s on edge. That look that Dorian gave him by the fountain is playing a constant loop in his brain. Bull can’t seem to let it go, and the need to do something, anything, to relieve the agitation is growing more pressing. Usually he’d find something to hit or fuck, but the first option’s not really viable right now, and the second might just make it worse.

The motion on the balcony above catches his attention. It’s Evelyn and Blackwall. They start dancing, if you wanna call it that. They’re stepping on each other’s toes, and only vaguely acknowledging the beat of the music. It doesn’t matter. They’re awash in contentment.

Bull smiles, glad for this little moment of happiness, until he sees the topiary rustle across the courtyard. Instantly, he goes on alert for danger, but it’s just Dorian. He’s also looking up at the blissful couple, but he’s not smiling.

He’s not even sure why he’s doing it, but Bull walks over to Dorian. “So, it’s back on, huh? What happened to Cullen?”

Dorian doesn’t look at him, but his brows knit together. “There were complications, apparently. I suppose the heart wants what it wants.”

That's drifting a little close to conversational territory Bull doesn’t wanna touch, so he changes the subject. “Good job talking her down earlier.” Bull jerks his head in the direction of the Inquisitor.

“Court can be difficult. She went to the Circle before she could get a feel for it.” His eyes are still trained on Evelyn.

“Dorian, look. I... shit. I’m sorry.” Bull says.

“Why are you sorry?” Dorian swivels those grey eyes down. He’s got that kind of sadness that becomes more than an emotion, to the point where it’s a way of life. Bull’s seen it before; hell, he’s experienced it himself. Easy to get to a place where the joy is sucked out of everything, and duty’s all that's left.

“I lied,” Bull admits. “I said I’d never hurt you. And it looks like I did.”

Dorian shakes his head and raises his gaze back up. “It’s the end of the world, Bull. It’s too much to hope that happiness would come to us all.” Dorian states the words without inflection.

Somehow, hearing the resignation in Dorian's voice makes it even worse. “I hate seeing you like this,” Bull blurts out.

Dorian doesn’t shift his gaze. “Then I suggest you don’t look.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. If it makes you feel better, I hate me for this, too.


	10. Fall into the Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Qun make demands, they don't go halfway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor canon divergence, if you're the type to notice that kind of thing.

When Bull gets the dispatch from the Ben-Hassrath, he has to read it four times to make sure he understands. “Alliance”. They actually used the word _alliance._ That sets off Bull’s warning bells right there. The Qun don’t have allies. So Bull’s on edge about the whole thing right from the start. He brings it up at the War Table after he cleared the message with Red.

“An alliance?” Josephine purses her lips skeptically. “I mean no offence, but that does not seem likely. Is it a trap of some sort?”

“I thought that too, but if there’s a trap, I can’t see it,” Bull says. “It’s possible they’re genuinely concerned about the red lyrium. It would only take one Saarebas to get ahold of that stuff and a whole city could be wiped out, easy. It’s also possible that they just want to see the Inquisitor up close.”

“We’ll go,” Evelyn says without hesitation.

Cullen raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Me, Bull, Varric, Dorian.”

Bull clears his throat. “Ah, boss, you sure you want to send the Tevinter mage on this mission?”

Evelyn raises her eyebrows and folds her arms. “I’m sure.”

There’s a definite chill in the air. Bull realizes that he might have pushed it too far. The Inquisitor doesn’t stand on ceremony, but that doesn’t mean she wants her authority to be directly challenged. “Got it, boss.”

Bull can’t shake the sense of unease, not even when they get to the Storm Coast. Something feels wrong, and he can’t put his finger on it. The fact that he’s stymied adds another layer of anxiety, because figuring this shit out is what he does. There’s something wrong with the boss, too. She’s withdrawn, not joking or laughing with them the way she normally does. She and Dorian have several whispered conversations on the trip, and from their body language, they might as well be making funeral arrangements, they’re so somber.

It gets worse. Gatt is there, which means the Qun wants Evelyn and the others to feel comfortable. Otherwise they’d have sent another Qunari. Not that Bull’s upset to see the elf -- just the opposite. He’s always liked the kid. But the fact that they’re trying to make Evelyn comfortable is a warning sign. They want her guard down.

And of course, Dorian immediately starts in on Gatt, bashing the Qun. Gatt gives it right back, and they’re sniping at each other to the point Evelyn has to say something. Seeing Dorian so angry with one of Bull’s friends is unsettling, for reasons he can’t quite put his finger on. At this point, the list of things Bull can’t figure out is getting longer than the shit he knows.

Still, it’s a simple job. The Chargers can more than handle their end, and by now Evelyn is a force of nature just by herself. Wiping out a couple nests of Ventori is child’s play. By the time they clear out the last cluster, Bull’s starting to relax.

And then he sees the Venatori reinforcements. The Chargers won’t be able to handle them.

Gatt immediately begins to harangue Bull, urging him to put the needs of the Qun over the lives of the Chargers. Which makes no sense - it’s not Bull’s decision. “Boss?”

Evelyn pulls him aside. Her face is wrong -- calm and sad. She should be pissed, or anxious. “Bull. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re asking me to sacrifice my boys.”

 _“No.”_ She says the word, really leaning on it. _“I’m_ not. _They_ are.”

Things start to coalesce, all at once. The tiny bits of _wrong_ Bull’s been picking up on - they’re starting to add up. The Qun brought him here just to see what he would do in this exact scenario. The Ben-Hassrath sent detailed intelligence. He and Evelyn had more than allowed for the numbers they’d been given. Which means the numbers were wrong. And Gatt wasn’t there to put Evelyn at ease - he was there to make sure Bull made the right decision. It was a trap, but not for the Inquisitor. It was a trap for _him._

Evelyn nods. “Bull. It’ll be all right. I promise.” She turns and calls the retreat. The Chargers are safe.

The journey back to Skyhold is a blur. Evelyn and Dorian leave Bull alone, so Varric fills up the space with chatter. It’s like a buzz, a background noise that Bull largely ignores, but he appreciates the effort.

By the time they get to the keep, it finally hits him. It was obvious. If Bull had been thinking clearly, it would’ve been obvious from the beginning. The way the Inquisitor insisted on bringing Dorian along. The way Dorian needled Gatt endlessly. The fact that neither of them seemed surprised when the Venatori reinforcements showed up.

“You knew,” he says to Evelyn as she’s unsaddling her horse. “You knew about this. From the future, in Redcliffe.”

“I knew it was possible,” she clarifies. “It didn’t play out how I expected, with the dreadnought. But yes. I knew they’d test you. And I knew you would make the right choice. You did then, and you did now. Because you’re the Iron Bull.”

Evelyn’s saying something else, and they’re the right words, he knows it, but he can’t really hear her. Nothing makes sense, and yet everything is explained. Bull’s world is unraveling slowly. There’s no touchstone. There’s nothing solid to stand on. He’s in freefall.

So Bull goes back to the beginning, drawing strength from the one thing that he can rely on: his own body. He trains hard during the day, sparring with anyone who’s willing, and when no one steps forth he takes it out on the practice dummies.

And at night? It’s easy enough to find someone. He barely has to try. Bull just wanders through the troop barracks and makes eye contact almost at random. Five days he spends this way, with two or three grateful volunteers making guest appearances each night. And on the sixth night, he opens his door, his arm around a young chevalier, only to find Dorian sitting on his bed, a piece of parchment in his hand.

The smile on Bull’s face evaporates. “Sorry. Change of plan,” he mutters to the angelic blond on his arm. The man shoots Dorian a frown and slinks off.

“What’re you doing here?” Bull grunts. He hasn’t had anything to drink since the mission; he hasn’t trusted himself to maintain control. But seeing Dorian in his bed puts him over the edge. Bull roots through his storage chest and pulls out a dusty bottle.

Dorian's eyebrows lift. “Does Blackwall know you’re hoarding Grey Whiskey?”

Bull shrugs. He uncorks the bottle with his teeth and takes a swig. It’s only fairly hideous. “You didn’t answer my question, ‘Vint.”

Dorian sighs. “I brought you something.” He waves the parchment.

“What is it?” Bull says, taking another deep drink. He doesn’t bother to offer any to Dorian. He’s angry, and he doesn’t know why.

Dorian's eyes train on the paper. His mouth opens and closes before he works himself up to read:

 _When the Ashkaari looked upon the destruction wrought by locusts,_   
_He saw at last the order in the world._

Bull holds out a hand. “No.”

Dorian ignores him, his voice calm.

 _A plague must cause suffering for as long as it endures,_   
_Earthquakes must shatter the land._   
_They are bound by their being._   
_Asit tal-eb. It is to be._   
_For the world and the self are one._   
_Existence is a choice._   
_A self of suffering, brings only suffering to the world._   
_It is a choice, and we can refuse it._

Whatever solidity Bull had found in the last week was shattered under Dorian's voice reading the canto. His canto. The translation is unfamiliar, but there’s no mistaking it. “Where did you find that?”

“I translated it myself,” Dorian stated.

Bull blinks. “What?”

Dorian's lips curve, but it's not a smile. “I know books, Bull. I saw that page you were reading, all those months ago. Pages don’t get that stained unless they’re read often, and at times of great need. You said something about locusts. So I taught myself Qunlat. Canto number four.”

From the formless chaos swirling around him, one fact sticks out. Bull clings to it. “You taught yourself Qunlat.”

“Technically, I taught myself the word for locusts. That lead me to the correct canto. And from there it was easy. I’m ever so smart. Haven’t you heard?” Dorian tilts his head. The boasting sounds hollow without his trademark exuberance.

“You knew,” Bull says. “You and Evelyn. That's why you trusted me, after Redcliffe. You knew I’d betray them.”

“I knew _they’d_ betray _you._ There’s a difference.”

“No. There’s not. You just said it. The world and the self are one. They wouldn’t have done that, unless they had cause. I gave them cause.” Bull goes to drink from the bottle again, then thinks better of it. He pours whatever’s left into two glasses, and hands one to Dorian.

Dorian takes the glass. “Has it not occurred to you that in all the time I’ve known you, you’ve always referred to the Qun as ‘they’?”

With the glass halfway to his mouth, Bull pauses. He hadn’t noticed. “Why are you here? You didn’t teach yourself Qunlat just to make me feel better.”

Dorian sets the parchment on the nightstand. “Is that so hard to believe?” He drinks, pondering his glass.

“After the shit I pulled on you? Uh, yeah, actually, it is.”

With a sigh, Dorian takes another small sip, then winces. There’s a sudden heaviness to his demeanor, the depression Bull saw at Halamshiral back in full force. “Well. Looks like I’d better make my exit,” Dorian says. He stands, setting the cup down. “Thanks for the drink. You can probably still catch that little blond.”

When he turns to go, Bull snags his arm. “You’re not telling me everything.”

Dorian grimaces, his eyes clenched shut tight. “Please don’t.”

“Dorian.” Bull says. It’s a plea by another name.

The air blows through Dorian's lips in a steady stream. “Evelyn wasn’t the only one you talked to in the future. You talked to me as well. You....”

Dorian's shaking. Bull can feel it in the arm he’s gripping. Dorian's eyes are still closed, and his voice is barely a whisper. “You said... you... never stopped thinking about me. That you had missed me. You said....” Dorian gulps a breath, his eyes flashing open, looking to the ceiling as if there was something up there that would grant him strength. “You.... you called me kadan. You said... a lot of things. Things no one else has ever said to me.”

Dorian's voice breaks, his breath catching. Bull can’t even begin to formulate a response, and Dorian's still talking. “No one’s ever... and I... and then I saw you die. And then... I was back... and I thought, maybe we... but then you....”

There’s a moment where the fragments slot into place and the picture is clear. In the future, Bull had given Dorian the one thing he thought he could never have, and then, in the here and now, Bull had broken his damn heart. And despite it, Dorian had spent months teaching himself a new alphabet, a new language. Just to be ready for the moment he knew was coming, when the Qun would test Bull, and when Bull would fail.

Bull’s frozen. There’s nothing holding him back now. He can want whatever he wants. He can feel whatever he feels. And that means there’s no limits. And he needs limits. He doesn’t even know where to start with this.

Dorian steels himself to leave, taking a steadying breath and setting his shoulders. “You know what I thought, when I finally finished the translation?”

Bull doesn’t say anything.

“I thought, Bull’s been reading this his whole life. His whole life, he’s been trying to convince himself that the Qun’s vision for him is his true nature. I'm a bit of an expert on the phenomenon. The Qun needed an earthquake, and Bull became one. But it never quite fits. Because he’s not the earthquake, he’s the earth, the source. He gives. He’s the thing that others draw strength from. So when he tries to be the earthquake, he can’t, not really, not fully. Something in him fights. And he suffers. He keeps coming back to this canto, looking for answers. The Qun know this. They know this, and they don’t care. They need the earthquake. So they take, and take, and take, like locusts, and when they’re done, they move on. They leave him, not giving a shit about what’s left. The dry husk, the broken stem. Or so they think. But they don’t know. They don’t know what I’ve seen. They don’t know the Bull I know.”

It’s too much to bear, hearing this. And especially hearing it from Dorian. Bull’s still holding Dorian's arm.

“Bull,” Dorian says, his voice strained.

“What?” Bull snaps.

Dorian puts his free hand over the one holding his arm. “Katoh.”

Bull lets go at once. He hadn’t realized his grip had tightened. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. You didn’t hurt me.”

“But I would have,” Bull says, the fear he’s been holding back since he became Tal-Vashoth  threatening to break free.

“No. You would not.” Dorian states it as a fact. “That fear. The fear of your strength. _They_ gave you that, don’t you see?” There’s a sting of anger in his voice. It’s not much, but in comparison to the blank depression, it stands in stark relief.

Bull goes quiet. Because a part of him wants to believe it, but that fear’s a part of him, like his scars or his tattoos.

“You think the leash the Qun put on you is the only thing keeping you from raging bloodlust. But that's not true. The thing that keeps you in check is you. I’ve never seen you cause harm for any reason than to protect others. Ever. I don’t think you’re capable of it.” The anger in Dorian's voice is soaking into Bull, seeping into the tiny cracks in his armor.

“You can’t know that.” Bull didn’t mean for it to be a whisper, but that's all he’s got.

Dorian huffs a mirthless laugh. “Oh, but I can. Would you like to know how?”

Something in his tone makes Bull’s blood run cold. He frowns.

Dorian's not looking at Bull any more. He’s staring at the door, but he’s seeing something else, judging by the shadow that flickers behind his eyes. “You think you’re the only one I’ve knelt for? Trust me. I am _exquisitely_ familiar with the difference between a man who gives pain as a gift, and one who takes pleasure in causing pain for its own sake.”

Nausea rises in Bull’s throat, hot and fast. He winces and wipes at his face. “Shit, Dorian.”

“You’re rather proving my point.” 

Neither says anything, and the seconds tick by. Bull still feels unmoored, adrift. But there’s a gravity, pulling him towards something solid. He’s been fighting that pull for a long time. Without the Qun, there’s nothing holding him back.

Finally, Dorian rouses himself with a deep breath. “Well. I said what I came to say. I’ll see you around, Bull.”

The gravity is pulling hard, now, and Bull’s falling faster and faster. He grabs Dorian's arm again, gently.

Dorian freezes with a tiny gasp. He doesn’t look up at Bull, like he’s afraid of what he might see.

“Hey. Hey, Dorian.”

“What?” Dorian whispers, still not looking at him.

“Maybe I don’t want you to go.” Bull can feel the quiver run through Dorian's arm.

He still hasn’t moved. Dorian's blinking fast, his breathing shallow, and he’s flushed. Bull doesn’t turn Dorian, but rather moves his own body to stand between the mage and the door. “Maybe I want you to stay.”

Slowly, slowly, Bull reaches up and brushes Dorian's cheek with the back of his fingers. Dorian leans into it, his eyes falling closed. He turns his face, catching Bull’s fingers with the corner of his lips.

Dorian’s still shaking. “Bull. I... I don’t think... I don’t know if I can stand it again.”

The words hit like a jolt. Bull lets himself feel it, really feel it. Like when he stepped into Dorian's wards, back in Haven. “You think I’m just looking to feel better for the night, and that I’ll turn you loose again.” Bull says. “You think I’m too messed up right now to know what I want, because of this bullshit with the Qun.”

Dorian nods, still not looking at him.

Bull lets his hand drop. “All right. I get it. It’s fine.”

“What?” Dorian jerks his head up to look at him.

Now it’s Bull’s turn to avoid eye contact. “This isn’t one of Varric shitty books. I don’t expect you to come running back just because I asked. Not after what I did. If you don’t want it, you don’t want it. Doesn’t matter how badly I do. It’s not -” He catches himself as he’s saying it, laughs. _It’s not about what I want._ Except it is, and it always has been.

The frown on Dorian's face melts away to something like sympathy. “Maybe I just need a little time.”

Bull can’t help it - he grins a little. “You think you can keep it moving just in one direction?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Dorian shoots back, with his own small smile, before he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

Bull sits on the edge of the bed. He picks up his mostly-full glass and downs the rest of the contents in one gulp. Shrugging, he does the same for Dorian's cup. Whatever’s in that grey whiskey’s starting to hit him, and he feels the edges of inebriation. Despite the dizziness, this is the most grounded he’s felt all week. Maybe his whole life.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Updates will be coming a bit slower as I finally FINALLY play Trespasser. Oh, and celebrate the holidays. Oh, and move house for the first time in ten years. Oh, and also write more Bull/Cullen nonsense because my brain hates me. Hopefully I'll be able to post every week or so.


	11. The heavens turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull begins his new life as a Tal-Vashoth.

When the next morning rolls around, Bull toys with the idea of sleeping in. Waking close to dawn was something drilled into him by the Qun, after all. Ergo, he had no reason to get out of bed. Shit, he could lay there all day, dozing and jerking off if he wants.

He manages to lay in for about an hour before his bladder and stomach veto the idea. When he sits up, Bull sees the translated canto on his nightstand. He’s tempted to just shove it in a chest, get it out of sight, but instead he snatches it up and reads it.

It’s strange to see the words in a different language. Dorian brought an elegance to the canto, elevating the plain, brutish language to poetry. Not that Bull’s surprised. Dorian brings elegance to everything he does.

The foreign twist on the familiar words reveals new truths. The rising dread which had plagued Bull, the panic he’d tried to assuage by ignoring all but the most basic needs of his own body, has calmed somewhat. It’s still there, a metallic tang on the back of his throat, but it doesn’t threaten to choke him any longer. He didn’t quite believe all the things Dorian had said last night, but the fact that Dorian believed them was enough for now.

Time to think about that later. For now, Bull empties his bladder and fills his stomach, then heads up the rotunda to find Red. It’s been six days since he got back. The assassins will no doubt arrive soon.

There’s no way to get to Leliana without passing within sight of the library. Bull doesn’t worry much. Dorian's usually tucked in the corner with his nose in a book, and Bull can move pretty stealthy when he needs to.

But Dorian's not in the corner. He’s standing at a table, leaning over it, poring over some papers in intense concentration. He’s directly in Bull’s line of sight when he comes up the stairs. Bull’s momentarily arrested by just how gorgeous he looks. His posture does incredible things for that flawless ass, for one. But it’s not just that. It’s seeing Dorian in his element; calm, pensive, in control.

Dorian leans up, bringing one hand up to play with the tuft of hair under his lip, his other arm crossed to support his elbow. Bull realizes he’s staring when Dorian does a double take, catching Bull out of the corner of his eye.

“Good morning.” Dorian's got a pretty good mask up. He manages to sound pleasant and formal at the same time.

“Hey,” Bull says, and his own masks are most assuredly not in place, not with the way his voice is as breathy as a fucking teenager. He takes a couple steps closer.

Dorian turns his body towards Bull, but his arms are still crossed, and he takes a step backwards, leaning his upper body back slightly. _Doesn’t want me too close._ Bull halts in his tracks. Dorian had asked for time, and Bull needs to respect that.

“Uh,” Bull clears his throat. “I gotta go see Red about some stuff. Thanks for... thanks. It meant a lot.” Not his best, but hey.

Dorian's mask melts, just the tiniest bit. “Did it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it did.” Bull shuts up before he starts babbling.

“Good.” Dorian says, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

After a second, Bull realizes Dorian’s not going to say anything else. So Bull nods. “Well. Better get up there. I’ll... I’ll see you around?”

“Of course.”

Bull and Leliana make a few contingency plans for when the assassins arrive. Bull’s not terribly worried about it, but best to reduce the chances for collateral damage.

After, Bull’s at loose ends. He checks up on his boys. Krem gives him a look, but the rest of them don’t seem concerned with what happened at the Storm Coast, aside from the fact that they’re alive. And that's the way he wants it.

He heads back to the keep and wanders. After five days, his body could use a break from constant training, anyway. And at some point, he’s gotta face the things Dorian told him.

Tough to find a quiet spot, but eventually Bull ambles to a corner of the keep, over by the stables. He sits on a busted-off corner of wall and people watches. And that's when he let himself think it: kadan.

Of all the things Dorian had said, that word resonated. It rang through Bull like he was a damn bell. He’d avoided thinking about it, because frankly, he’d never thought about anyone that way. When it comes to Dorian, Bull wants. Plain and simple. But that's not the same thing as being kadan. Is it? Shit, Bull doesn’t know. He’s been avoiding thinking about it for so long he’s not even sure what shape his desire has taken.

Sure, there’s things that Bull enjoys about Dorian. Making Dorian smile, really smile, or hearing his laugh; catching him cheating at cards; watching him read; even listening to him complain about the food at Skyhold. And yeah, there’s the sex. But almost better is what comes after: the feeling of Dorian's body curled up on Bull’s chest as they fall asleep; or even better still, waking up to that gorgeous face, when those grey eyes flicker open. Seeing the contentment in that second when Dorian realizes where he is and who he’s with and that he’s safe and whole and wanted, knowing that Bull’s the one that gave him that tiny bit of happiness, and that if Dorian only wanted more Bull would give him so, so much more - everything, really, and....

Oh, _shit._

_Kadan._

***

Two days later, the healer is just applying a poultice to the dagger wound on Bull’s shoulder when Dorian arrives, hovering in the doorway. “Just a flesh wound?”

“Ahhh,” Bull scoffs. “I wouldn’t have bothered coming here, except for the poison.”

The healer rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath as he leaves the room.

“I think you offended him,” Dorian says, turning to watch the young man go.

“He’ll live.”

“But will you?” Dorian asks, looking everywhere but at Bull.

Bull laughs. “You’re kidding, right?”

Dorian shakes his head and saunters in. He picks up potion bottles seemingly at random, placing them back on the shelves after a cursory glance, still assiduously avoiding Bull’s gaze. “You knew they were coming? The assassins?”

“Yeah. Standard procedure. Wasn’t much of a hit. Takes more than two assholes with knitting needles to take me down.” Bull shrugs. “And the Inquisitor was there in case I needed backup.”

Dorian's looking at Bull’s arm, as if the bandage was the one talking. “So the Inquisitor’s the one you turn to when you need help?”

Bull pauses. He needs to choose his words carefully. “Not always. But I knew she wouldn’t mind. Because I haven’t put her through the ringer, or made her life awful with my crappy decisions.”

Dorian's eyes trace the linen wrapped around Bull’s shoulder. “Is following the Qun a decision, then? Is it really a decision when that's all you know?”

“It is a choice, and we can refuse it.” Bull quotes the canto. “A wise man taught me that.”

“Wise, eh? Are you sure?” Dorian finally, finally meets Bull’s gaze. He reaches out, as if to touch the bandage.

Bull catches Dorian's forearm. He pulls the wrist up to his face, smelling the rich, spicy oils Dorian anoints himself with each morning. “You think I would choose an unwise man as my kadan?”

Dorian's jaw clenches. “Don’t,” he warns, his eyes grey ice. “Even though that never happened, doesn’t mean I... I’d rather not joke about that, if it’s all the same to you.”

Bull unfurls his fingers from around Dorian's wrist and lets it drop. “Just because I didn’t follow the same script as you, doesn’t we’re not on the same page. I could live a thousand futures, meet you a thousand times. You’d still be my kadan. You walk out that door right now and we never have another moment together. You’d still be my kadan.”

For a moment, Bull’s convinced he said exactly the wrong thing, even though it's true. Dorian's frown deepens and he shakes his head, and when he shifts his weight Bull’s certain he’s gonna turn right around and leave. But Dorian doesn’t. He starts laughing.

It takes a second for the sound to register, it’s so unexpected. “What?” Bull asks, beginning to chuckle.

“You said almost the exact same thing. Before. In the future. Whenever it was.” Dorian waves vaguely. “Top marks for consistency.”

“Do I win a prize?”

Dorian's smiling, and damn, it hurts in the best possible way to see it. “Possibly,” Dorian says. He takes a step closer, standing between Bull’s knees.

Bull’s fingers are twitching, he wants to hold Dorian so badly. But he doesn’t move. He pushed too far the other night, and he’s done enough damage.

Dorian's just standing there, like he’s waiting for something. _Which is exactly what he’s doing,_ Bull realizes. Maybe there’s such a thing as giving someone too much space. Time for a little brutal truth.

“Dorian. I really want to touch you. But I just don’t know.”

“What don’t you know?” The smile fades, and doubt shades Dorian's eyes.

“I made a mistake before. But I thought I was doing the right thing. Who’s to say I’m not making a mistake again?” He scratches at the base of his horns.

“You didn’t make a mistake. The Qun did. When they forced you to become something you aren’t.” Dorian frowns and folds his arms.

Bull grunts. It’s easy to blame the Qun, but he’s not convinced. There’s still a nagging feeling that if he’d just tried a little harder, devoted himself a bit more, been a bit more careful...

“Bull. Stop.” It’s not so much the sound of Dorian's voice that rouses him, as it is the feeling of the man’s hands stroking his horns. “You’re blaming yourself.”

Squeezing his eye shut, Bull tries to ignore how good Dorian's hands feel. “When did you become such an expert on reading people?”

“When it comes to failing to fulfill the expectations of others? Bull, I’m a master. I’ve got a lifetime of experience, you know. I tried for years to become what my father wanted and failed. I know every form of self-flagellation there is.” Dorian's hands continue to glide along Bull’s horns, and it feels fucking amazing.

Bull exhales. He’s not used to being the one receiving the comfort. It feels... weird. “Yeah, I kinda figured, that first night.”

Dorian's hands freeze. Not just that, his whole body tenses up.

“Hey. Hey, it’s all right. You think you’re the only one that ever tried to run away from something by getting lost in sex?” Bull says, rubbing his eye socket under the patch.

Dorian relaxes and chokes out a laugh. “Clearly not. Did you work through the entire barracks?”

“Not yet,” Bull admits.

“Well, the day is young.” Dorian's voice is light, teasing, almost a perfect imitation of someone who doesn’t care.

Almost, but not quite.

“Nah,” Bull says. “I’m over it.”

“Are you, now.” There’s a thread of anticipation in Dorian's body, despite the pretense of a relaxed posture.

Bull shrugs. “Maybe that's not enough. Maybe I want something more.”

He looks at Dorian. The man’s hands are still on his horns, though they’ve ceased moving. Dorian looks pensive, simultaneously wary and hopeful.

Bull slides a hand up to wrap around Dorian's waist. Damn, but it feels good. Bull can feel the interplay of the muscles along Dorian's side through the thin fabric of his robes. Dorian tilts his head, and shifts his weight, like he’s going to lean down. Bull raises his face up.

The healer walks back in, and Dorian steps away without flinching, the movement automatic and practiced. The healer grabs a few potions, giving them a sideline glance, and leaves.

There’s an awkwardness lingering in the air, and Bull’s about to make an excuse to leave when the noon bell rings.

“Fasta vass, I’m late. I have to meet Cullen for chess. He gets so prickly when I keep him waiting,” Dorian complains, but there’s a smile on his face. He turns to go.

“Hey. Hey, Dorian. Wicked Grace later? We’ve missed you.” Bull’s asking two questions, masking one with the other, because whatever’s going on, it’s fragile, too fragile for _you wanna fuck and fall asleep and wake up together, maybe for the rest of our lives?_

Dorian laughs. “I’m not sure Blackwall would agree. But... I’ll think about it.”

It’s not much, but it’s something. It’s enough.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter!


	12. Rise Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone loves a game of Wicked Grace.

Bull was pretty positive that Dorian would show up for the card game. He’d even told the others, to minimize the potential for awkwardness if the mage made an appearance. So it was no surprise when Dorian walked in just as Varric was dealing the cards.

What’s surprising is that Commander Cullen is on his heels. Cullen had never played cards with them. Not for lack of invitation; Varric had made sure to let “Curly” know he was welcome. Bull figured it had something to do with whatever went down with Blackwall and Evelyn. But seeing the way Cullen's hand lingered on Dorian's shoulder as they took their seats, Bull suddenly wondered if there was something else happening.

Shit. Bull realized he had no idea what had been going on with Dorian. He’d talked more to him in the last three days than he had for the last three months. Fuck, he’d just assumed that Dorian was still interested. But maybe not. Maybe he’d moved on. Maybe he’d taken up with someone else. Someone colossally handsome and polite and brave. Someone who hadn’t broken his damn heart.

“Sparkler! And Curly! You finally made it!” Varric crows. “I love it when we get an infusion of fresh coin - I mean, blood.”

Dorian is nervous, though he’s hiding it well. When no one makes a fuss at his entrance he relaxes further, though he pointedly does not sit next to Bull. Instead he sits across the table, giving Cullen the seat by Bull, and then does his best to avoid looking at the Qunari.

Dorian's paying a lot of attention to Cullen, though: jostling him with an elbow, leaning close to steal peeks at his cards, refilling his drink.

Bull loses several hands in a row. He’s too busy trying to decide how to deal with the sting of disappointment to pay attention to the game. Now that Bull’s confronted it, there’s no denying that Dorian is his kadan. He hadn’t been lying when he told Dorian it wouldn’t matter if they never spent time together again. That doesn’t mean he wants to watch Dorian with someone else, though.

“Tiny, you okay? You’re almost out of coin,” Varric notes, leaning over to assess the damage.

“Not my night, I guess,” Bull rumbles. “Can’t get lucky all the time.”

Blackwall snorts in derision. “I’m pretty sure the opposite is true, in your case. Have you _ever_ been turned down?”

Bull stares at the Red Divine in his hand. “Once.” He looks across the table at Dorian.

Dorian flinches but doesn’t look away, and the tension in the room shoots up. Blackwall’s not the most observant man, and he keeps talking as he fans the cards in his hand. “Really? What, did you proposition a Chantry Sister or something?”

Blackwall finally looks up. Bull and Dorian are still staring at each other. Cullen's gaze is bouncing back and forth between them, and he’s frowning. Varric and Evelyn, meanwhile, are examining their cards as if they held the secrets to life itself.

Bull looks away, forces a grin to his face. “Yeah, there was a Chantry Sister. But _she_ propositioned _me.”_

Evelyn bursts out with laughter first, and the rest follow. “You didn’t.”

Bull shrugs. “I guess she had needs.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen mutters, turning pink.

“Tiny, you are shitting me.” Varric shakes his head. “You did _not_ sleep with a Chantry sister.”

“Nah. Just a quickie rub-and-tug in the Chantry vestibule. In Haven, day after I arrived.”

Cullen's brow is creased. “Bull, there was no vestibule in that Chantry.”

“I dunno what you call it. One of those little rooms off to the side.”

Cullen looks confused for another moment, and then a broad grin breaks out on his face. “Was there a small desk in there? And a cot?”

“Yeah.”

Cullen just laughs and looks at his cards.

“What?” Varric says. “Don’t leave us hanging, Curly.”

“That was Chancellor Roderick’s office,” Cullen snickers.

Dorian almost chokes with laughter. “Bull, please promise me that if you ever have to urge to defile Chantry property again, you’ll do it in Mother Giselle’s room.” He smiles at Bull, and it’s fucking dazzling.

The Qunari grins. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Bull loses the rest of his coin over the next two hands. He stands up and stretches.

“Where are you going?” Evelyn chides him. “It’s not even midnight.”

“Bossy,” Bull grins. “Since I’m out, I thought I’d get us some more drinks.”

“An excellent idea,” Cullen says. “I’ll help carry. This hand is doing me no favors.” He chucks his cards down and stands up.

They go downstairs to the bar. Cabot’s busy with his other customers, so they wait. Bull decides to bite the bullet and just get everything out in the open. No point in sneaking around. “So,” he says to Cullen. “You’ve been spending time with a certain handsome ‘Vint, I see.”

Cullen stiffens. “I... I don’t know what you mean.”

Bull shakes his horns. “Look. I know things have been weird. I just need to know where you guys stand, is all. Either way, I’m fine with it.” That last one is a lie, of course. Bull wouldn’t be fine with it. But he’s not gonna stand in their way, either. Whatever Bull feels, Dorian deserves to be happy.

Cullen's scowling. “Do you meddle in all their lives like this? Is it a mercenary thing?”

Bull blinks, then narrows his eye. “Ah... what?”

“I do know a thing or two about commanding small groups, you know,” Cullen mutters. “Can’t say I ever got so involved.”

“Holy shit, Cullen, did you - you think I’m talking about _Krem?”_ Bull forgets to keep his voice down, and it carries to the corner, where the Chargers are drinking. Krem’s already looking in their direction; unlike everyone else, he looks back at the table at the sound of his name.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Where’s that blasted barkeep?”

Bull grins. He can’t stop grinning. Now that he thinks it over, Cullen and Krem have been sparring a lot lately. An awful lot. And Cullen's been working with Krem on some of the Charger missions, spending time in the war room, just the two of them. And even tonight, Cullen's been the first to jump up to get more drinks. The way Krem keeps glancing at Cullen's back, maybe Bull knows why.

Suddenly everything makes sense. What was it that Dorian had said at Halamshiral? The heart wants what it wants? At the time, Bull figured Dorian had meant that Evelyn wasn’t over Blackwall. But maybe it was that Cullen wasn’t interested in the Inquisitor. And who’s he gonna turn to for support, all confused about wanting Krem, than his good friend Dorian, who knows all about what it feels like to want something you thought you couldn’t have?

Bull claps Cullen on the shoulder. “Krem’s a good man.”

Before Cullen can make another pathetic denial, Cabot comes over and takes their order, then disappears again.

They stand for a moment, until Cullen squints at Bull. “Wait, were you talking about Dorian?” Cullen frowns.

“What about me?” Dorian appears, sticking his head between them. “What in the devil’s name is taking so long? I’m practically dying of thirst.”

When they get back to the card game, Bull takes the seat Cullen had been occupying, at the head of the table. “Since I’m out of the game, you might as well sit closer,” Bull says, setting the drinks down.

Cullen doesn’t even blink, just nods and scoops his coins towards himself. Dorian looks a little hesitant but doesn’t say anything.

Now that Bull knows what’s up with Cullen, he relaxes. And soon enough, Dorian does too. Soon their feet are firmly touching under the table, then their knees. Bull starts leaning over to look at Dorian's hand on the pretense of preventing him from cheating, causing the mage to bleat a protest. But he doesn’t lean away, either, not even when his elbow brushes up against Bull’s forearm.

Finally, it’s down to just Evelyn, Varric, and Dorian. Cullen's long since lost his coin, and hasn’t come up from his last trip downstairs for a refill. Blackwall’s still there, nursing his tankard.

“All in,” Evelyn decides, shoving her meager stack of coin into the center.

Varric frowns at his cards. “Are you confident, or just eager to get to bed, I wonder?” He shoots a wink at Blackwall, who rolls his eyes. Varric laughs and puts the requisite coins in the center.

Dorian chews the inside of his lip, considering his cards. “I see it’s down to me. Hmmm.”

“Oh, just bet already,” Blackwall sighs.

“Touchy,” Dorian says. “What do you think, Bull?” He leans over, showing Bull his cards, turning his face upwards to look at Bull through his lashes.

It takes every ounce of self-control Bull has not to close the few inches between them for a kiss. Dorian's lips are _right there,_ parted and supple, and Bull can smell his musk and spicy scent.

“I think you should bet,” Bull says. “Take a chance. It might work out.”

Dorian doesn’t look away. “Last time I had this hand, I lost.”

“Last time you had that hand, you were cheating, remember?” Bull reminds him. “You had an unfair advantage.”

“True,” Dorian muses. “I did, didn’t I? Not that it helped.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Varric said. “Will you two knock it off? Sparkler, just put your damn coin in so we can all go to bed.”

“Fine, fine,” Dorian says with an airy wave of his hand. “Call.”

“Three queens.” Evelyn lays down her cards.

“Beats me,” Varric tosses his hand in without revealing what he held. “Sparkler?”

“Four knaves,” Dorian shows his hand. “I guess that means I win.”

“Finally. I’m bone tired,” Blackwall says, rising to stretch. The others file out in short order.

“So.” Bull half-turns, draping an arm across the back of Dorian's chair.

“So.” Dorian is scooping his coins into a pouch. When he’s done, he looks at Bull.

There’s a lot in that look. Anticipation makes up the main part, but amusement is in there, and a fair amount of lust. And something else, maybe relief? Tenderness? Bull can’t quite identify it, but it’s good, whatever it is.

“You want to come up? It’s fine if you don’t. I’ll understand.” Bull says, though he’s pretty sure Dorian will say yes.

“Kaffas, yes, I thought you’d never ask.” Dorian leaps to his feet.

Ten seconds later, Bull’s shoving Dorian against the wall in his room, smothering him with kisses. Dorian's moaning already, his hands roving as far as they can reach, like he’s afraid Bull might disappear at any moment.

For his part, Bull can’t seem to get enough of the way Dorian tastes. Or smells. Or sounds.

He moves Dorian towards the bed. “Clothes. Off.” He growls, unbuckling his pauldron and tossing it to the side.

Dorian's already stripping. He’s naked by the time Bull gets his leg brace off.

Bull pauses to look at him. He’s on his back, propped up on his elbows, looking up at Bull, no masks in sight, his face open and vulnerable and wanting. Bull climbs over Dorian.

Dorian opens his mouth to say something, but after a moment where nothing comes out of his mouth, he reaches up to pull Bull down by his horns for another kiss.

There’s no way either of them are gonna last for shit, not like this. Not with Dorian's lips sliding hot and slick against Bull’s neck, his hands tracing down Bull’s chest to his cock.

“Lay down,” Dorian whimpers. “Please.”

Bull rolls to his back. Dorian's already climbing on top of him, the way he did their first night together. His hands are shaking as he reaches, pulling Bull’s hand to loop around their cocks.

“Oil’s under the bed,” Bull gasps as Dorian starts rolling his hips.

Dorian makes an undignified whine, but tilts to the side to retrieve the bottle, shoving it at Bull.

Bull’s not looking to stretch this out. He slops the oil on his hand, grunting as Dorian resumes the sinuous motion of his hips.

“Fuck,” Bull moans. “Dorian. _Shit,_ that's good.”

Dorian's thighs are beginning to tremble, and he’s moaning continuously, his eyes trained on Bull’s face. When he brings his hands up to pinch his own nipples, Bull hisses.

“Dorian. I’m going to... fuck, I can’t wait.” Bull warns, his free hand gripping Dorian's hip.

“Yes. Maker, yes. Bull. I want it. I want to feel you. Please.”

That's all Bull can take. He comes, his cock pulsing, and Dorian's not far behind. The mage’s eyes roll back into his head and his whole body jerks with effort, the motion mellowing into shivers. Bull squeezes, milking the last few drops from them both.

Dorian collapses on top of Bull, panting and shivering and... oh shit, he’s crying. Just a little, the kind of tears that sometimes get jostled loose when a person’s overwhelmed.

“Hey. Hey, kadan. It’s okay.” Bull says, stroking Dorian's hair.

“Sorry. Sorry. That was just...” Dorian says, wiping his eyes as he shifts to nestle to Bull’s side.

“I know. I know,” Bull says, because he does. Somehow, over the months away from Dorian, he’d convinced himself that the intensity between them was in Bull’s imagination. If anything, it was more potent than he remembers. His hand strokes up and down Dorian's spine.

A few minutes go by, and they just lay there and breathe. “I missed this,” Bull admits.

It's a new sensation, missing something. Bull knows all about deprivation. The Ben-Hassrath taught him how to survive almost anything, pushing the limits of going without food, water, even air. But the satisfaction he feels now is different. It's not just a need being fulfilled. It's the feeling of being made whole when he didn’t know he was incomplete.

“Me too,” Dorian says, nuzzling his cheek into Bull’s chest.

Bull starts to giggle.

“What’s so funny?” Dorian demands.

“Your moustache. It tickles.” Bull cringes, trying to get away from the prickly sensation.

Dorian bites Bull, not hard, just enough to get his point across, and Bull’s still laughing. He tightens his arms around Dorian with a satisfied growl. “Damn, Dorian, why does this feel so _good?”_

With a laugh, Dorian twists himself around so he’s looking up at Bull. “I have no idea. I’m going to go with ‘because I’m spectacular in every way'. Usually a good answer to questions like that.”

“I’ll allow it.” Bull sighs. “You are pretty fucking spectacular. For a ‘Vint.”

Dorian presses a mild spark directly to Bull’s nipple.

“Holy fuck, Dorian. Remind me to have you do that again later.”

“Oh, you like that, do you? Good to know.” Dorian relaxes against Bull’s chest. “I have to believe that if all Qunari were as cuddly as you, we wouldn’t still be at war.”

Bull rumbles with laughter. “Yeah. No. We’re not cuddly. You’re not supposed to share beds, once you hit puberty.”

“I imagine logistics plays a role in that,” Dorian says, reaching up to run a hand along Bull’s horn.

“That’s a lot of it. And, you know, we’re not supposed to get too fond of each other. We get separated or reassigned if we get too close.”

Dorian tenses, going absolutely rigid.

“You alright?” Bull asks, stroking Dorian's shoulder with a thumb.

“Do you... do you know ahead of time? Or... do they just disappear?”

“Who?” Bull’s confused.

Pushing himself up, Dorian looks at Bull. “If you... develop feelings for someone. Do you get to say goodbye?”

“Yeah, of course. Shit, Dorian, we’re not monsters.”

Dorian's laugh has nothing to do with amusement. It’s a frantic, manic sound. “Monsters, indeed.” He flops back down.

Bull has the feeling he’s about to hear something bad. “I take it this has some personal significance?”

“You could say that.” Dorian sighs. “Let’s just say my father had the same idea. First it was one of the gardener’s apprentices, Claudius. I was fourteen, he was... maybe sixteen? Suddenly I took quite an interest in the out-of-doors. He was absolutely gorgeous. Auburn hair and freckles. Freckles! In Tevinter! And of course with all the sun, his freckles would just get more and more pronounced.” There’s another sigh as Dorian remembers it.

“What happened?” Bull prompts him.

“I’ve no idea. He just disappeared. The day after we kissed, amazingly enough. The gardener wouldn’t tell me anything. It was as if he never existed.” Dorian's voice gets harsh.

Bull senses there’s more, so he waits.

“The next was a fellow student in the circle in Vyrantium, when I was fifteen. His family had worked so hard to get him there, sacrificed everything. We worked together on alchemical formulas, and one thing led to another. We shared a terrible, sloppy kiss in the library. And then, just like that, gone. ‘Withdrawn due to illness’ was the official story. Ridiculous. He was healthy as a druffalo.”

“I’m beginning to see a pattern,” Bull says, keeping his voice as neutral as he can make it.

“Yes, well, it took me rather longer to make the connection.” Dorian's voice is bitter. “My father's doing, of course.”

“He didn’t -” Bull can’t finish the thought.

“Kill them? Oh, heavens no. He simply bought them off. Well, their families. Everyone has a price. After a while everyone knew to stay away from me. It was... wearing, being so isolated.”

“Holy fuck, Dorian.” Bull’s shaking with anger.

“He was trying to keep me from temptation,” Dorian runs a finger in small circles across Bull’s chest. “Eventually I had enough and ran off. Turns out there are several brothels in Minrathous where a man with coin can buy discretion for an evening. I was safe from his influence there. For a while.”

“Don’t tell me he bought out the brothels,” Bull growled.

“No, just threatened to have their licenses revoked if they took my money,” Dorian says with a bitter laugh. “By that point, though, I didn’t have to pay to find people to sleep with. I had enough experience, enough confidence. Maybe... too much.” Dorian's voice is pensive.

After a lifetime of training, Bull can’t turn off the ability to put the pieces together, and memories rush forward, filling in the gaps. There were things Dorian said, little bits and pieces. About kneeling. About pain. About not being able to forget, even if he wants to. It adds up to a pretty bad picture. “How old were you?”

There’s a pause. “Nineteen.”

Bull lets his breath out slowly. “A lot of things seem like a good idea, at that age. And it’s hard to tell who to trust. A person desperate for friendship could get taken advantage of, pretty easy.”

Dorian doesn’t say anything, just hugs Bull tight.

The bell in the courtyard strikes midnight. When the sound dies away, Dorian says, “It’s a new day.”

Bull didn’t need his Ben-Hassrath training to understand Dorian doesn’t want to talk anymore. “That it is.” He tightens his arms around Dorian, feeling him relax into the embrace. Despite everything, it feels good. It feels really damn good.


	13. How Much Greater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull's night with Dorian continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy smut!

At some point during the night, Dorian rolls over, pressing his back against Bull for warmth. The motion wakes Bull, and his full bladder keeps him awake. Dammit. He waits until Dorian's breathing is gentle and slow, then carefully extracts himself from the bed. 

One of the nice things about having a door to the battlements is that Bull doesn’t have to use the chamber pot all the time. He pulls on his trousers and sneaks out, leaving the door open just a crack, and relieves himself over the outer wall. 

The guards are used to it by now. He got a couple curious glances at first, but now it’s old hat. 

Stuffing himself back into his pants, Bull takes a second to look out over the mountains. The view is fucking incredible, especially at this time of night. The moon is setting, a golden crescent hung low over the jagged ridges of stone. Not for the first time, Bull’s kind of blown away by everything he’s seen and done, all the choices and circumstances that led him to this moment. 

The creak of the door breaks the stillness. Dorian's still in bed, sitting up with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His hand is outstretched like he used magic to open the door. Bull cocks his head, gesturing him to the battlements.

With a wary smile, Dorian emerges from the bed, the blanket draped around him like a cape, his bare feet almost silent on the flagstones. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Bull says quietly.

Dorian shrugs. “I’m a light sleeper. Fasta vass, that is gorgeous,” he says, his eyes gazing towards the horizon. 

Bull looks at him. It’s rare to see Dorian without his masks up. The man always looks good, but when he’s not hiding behind the sardonic smirk or the hedonism or the snobbish intellectual facade, he’s sublime. Like a statue, maybe, or one of those fancy portraits in Orlais, or -

“You’re staring at me. Why are you staring at me?” Dorian reaches for his moustache, patting it defensively.

Bull can’t contain the laugh, though he tries. It comes out as a half-cough, half-snort. “Just admiring the view.”

“Yes, well. As you should,” Dorian doesn’t sound convinced. He turns back to look at the mountains, leaning against the stone wall.

Bull hesitates a moment, then gently puts his hand on Dorian's shoulder. He can feel the tension and release, though Dorian doesn’t look at him. 

They stand for another minute, and Dorian rouses himself. “You must be freezing, Bull, you’re hardly dressed.”

“Thought you’d be more concerned with your footsies getting cold.” Bull lets the smile steal over his face before he glances down at Dorian.

“And here I thought you were observant,” Dorian sighs, his voice dripping with pity. 

Bull looks down at Dorian's feet. They’re actually steaming, tiny wafts of vapor rising from the frost on the flagstones. “Why didn’t you do that in the Fallow Mire? You certainly complained enough.”

Dorian snorts and looks up at Bull, a judgemental frown on his face. “You think I’d waste mana on my own comfort in the field? Armies of undead don’t raise themselves, you know.”

Bull’s simultaneously chastised and impressed. And a little turned on. 

Apparently, it shows, if Dorian's sly glance downward and raised eyebrow are any indication. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for necromancy.”

Bull bends down and scoops Dorian into a bridal carry, ignoring his squawk of protest. He strides back into his room, kicking the door shut behind him. “No,” he says. “But I do have a thing for you. Shit, Dorian, seeing you then, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a human so beautiful.” Bull lays him on the bed, and clambers over him on hands and knees. 

Dorian's nose is crinkled up in confusion. “Bull, I was covered in mud, cranky, and hadn’t had a proper shave in over a week. I’d hardly call that beautiful.”

Bull shakes his horns. “You don’t get it, do you? Yeah, I know you’re pretty. Hell, everyone the Inquisitor has around her - they’re all pretty. Well, except that Cole thing... spirit... kid... whatever. The point is, pretty isn’t the same thing as beautiful. Don’t get me wrong. I like pretty. Pretty’s nice. But in the Fallow Mire, that's when I saw your beauty. With the magic wrapped around you like a second skin, the way you used your body as a vessel for all that power, the grace and glory and energy all coming together.... And you commanding it, completely in control, like the magic was part of you....” Bull’s breath is coming a bit fast, and his hips are rocking. 

He hadn’t meant to get quite so wrapped up in the memory, especially not so soon. He wasn’t sure Dorian was ready to hear it. Hell, Bull wasn’t sure he even really understood it himself, until he started talking. But there it is, laid bare: the moment when things changed, when Dorian lodged himself in Bull’s chest. Kadan.

Dorian still looks confused, but there’s more - wonder and awe and maybe a little fear. And there’s beauty in that, too, though it’s the kind that sends shockwaves through Bull’s chest, not his cock. 

He leans down, slow. Slow enough to feel Dorian's breath on his lips, as he hovers, poised an inch over him. And with the same slowness, Dorian reaches up with one hand, sliding it along Bull’s jawline, tracing a thumb over his cheek.

It’s like they’ve never kissed, and when Dorian closes the space between them, Bull wonders if maybe they hadn’t yet. Maybe what they’d done before was something else, because the feeling of Dorian's lips on his, so impossibly gentle and quivering and almost chaste, sends an explosion through Bull, ricocheting between his chest and gut and yes, his cock.

When Dorian's tongue flicks out, Bull moans. Fuck. He’s never had anything like this before. It’s so... it’s so...

“Bull,” Dorian whispers, pulling away fractionally, breathing the name into Bull’s mouth. “Will you take me? Please?”

_ Take me. _ Not “fuck me”. Not “oh yeah that's it give it to me hard”.  _ Take me.  _ As in, I’m giving, I’m offering myself, will you accept? Will you take me?

It’s not often that Bull finds himself shaking in the bedroom, but he is now. “Yes,” he breathes. “Yes.”

Bull attempts to light a candle; the moonlight filtering into the room is dim, and he wants to be able to see. He fumbles with flint and tinder, until Dorian waves flame into the wicks with a flick of magic. 

“Handy,” Bull grins, and Dorian smiles back, lazy and indulgent. And now, with the golden light shining across his brown skin, Bull needs a second. Because, fuck, Dorian’s so damn gorgeous. 

Running his hands over the mage’s body, Bull’s struck by just how perfect every muscle is. Dorian's completely in proportion, and if it wasn’t for the blood coursing hot under his skin, he could definitely be a statue. 

Bull’s hands run down Dorian's thighs, then up the underside of his legs. Dorian brings his legs up under the motion, and Bull leans down to swipe his tongue along the cleft of his ass. 

Dorian groans, then sucks air through his teeth as Bull licks the tensed ring of muscle. “Bull. You don’t have to -” His words meld into a whimper as Bull continues. 

He’s not going to waste the effort to stop and try to argue with Dorian. Not when the mage is arching and moaning and scrabbling at the sheets, his cock stiffening and twitching. After a few moments Bull brings his mouth a little higher, licking and sucking while he retrieves the oil. A second later, one finger is pressing into the mage.

The sensation of Dorian's hands on his horns gets his attention. Dorian's pulling, vainly trying to get Bull to move. It’s a little odd for Dorian to be so insistent, so Bull obliges, shifting to lay alongside him. 

When Dorian kisses him, now hot and desperate, Bull understands. Soon enough he adds another finger, scissoring Dorian open. All the while, Dorian is laying these half-kisses on him, breathing whimpers into his mouth. The sounds gradually come together into words. “Please. Bull, please, I’m ready, please. I need it.”

Bull puts one arm behind Dorian's shoulders, the other behind his knees, shifting him so that he’s curled up on Bull’s chest. He watches Dorian's face as he guides his cock in. The wonder in his eyes is like a gift. Bull flexes his hips, bucking gently.

Dorian whines but doesn’t look away. “So good.”

“Fuck, yes,” Bull says. “More?”

“Oh yes, more, more,” Dorian nods. He tries to move, to push himself downward, but Bull’s holding him tight. 

“I got you, kadan.” 

Bull moves their bodies together, setting a slow pace. Any more, and he’d be done in a heartbeat. And he wants it to last, for as long as Dorian wants it. 

It’s the first time Bull’s been able to really focus. No distractions from the Qun, no trying to figure out what Dorian needs, or trying to figure out what he needs, for that matter. There’s nothing to worry about except their bodies, their breath. 

“Bull, it’s so good. It’s so good.” Dorian's shaking his head back and forth, like he can’t believe it.

“I know.” 

Dorian buries his face in the crook of Bull’s neck. “Faster. Please.”

As happy as Bull was to take it slow, it feels fucking amazing to give Dorian what he wants. Dorian has a hand on his cock, stroking and squeezing just below the head. Bull drills into him, fast as he can. 

Dorian's moans are continuous and rhythmic, the sound muffled by Bull’s neck. And then Bull feels Dorian's teeth clamp on to his skin, like he needs something to ground him. It’s incredible.

“Oh, fuck. Dorian. Yes. That's it. Hard as you need. Oh fuck.” 

The whines escaping from Dorian's mouth are sweet, a counterpoint to the pain from his bite. Bull can feel the interplay of heat and cold and heat again as Dorian's breath whistles along Bull’s saliva-slicked skin.

Bull’s not gonna last much longer. He takes a chance, lets loose the words he’s been holding back. “Dorian. You feel so fucking good. So good. You like this cock, filling you up? You like feeling me take you, just the way you want it? Come on, baby. Let me feel you come. Give it to me. That's it. Oh, fuck, Dorian. I can feel it. Fuck, I’m gonna -” 

The universe seems to collapse down to the sensation of Dorian's ass clenching around Bull’s cock. The mage’s body is juddering with release, and Bull’s right on his heels, plunging as deep as he can as he empties himself with a growl. 

Dorian's breathing slows, his exhales tiny sounds of  _ oh, oh, oh.  _ Bull lets go of his legs, and the mage splays out on top of him. 

Bull never wants to move again. Ever. Until the sensation of fluid dripping becomes too distracting to bear. “Come on. Let’s clean up, before we end up sticky.”

Dorian makes this little grumbly sound, and it’s just so fucking cute that Bull starts laughing. And that draws another grumble from Dorian, and yet more laughing from Bull. He gets up, still snickering, leaving Dorian to burrow into the blankets.

Dampening a cloth in the washbasin, Bull slides back into bed. Dorian's on his stomach, one leg hitched out to the side, the blankets twisted all around him. Bull shucks the fabric up Dorian's thigh. The mage doesn’t move, though the faintest beginnings of a smile curl at the edges of his lips. Bull moves as gently as he can, swiping the damp cloth along the insides of Dorian's thighs. 

There’s another little grumble from the pillows, but this time it’s tinged with self-indulgent pleasure. 

“Too much?” Bull asks.

Dorian shakes his head. 

Bull continues his ministrations, moving closer to Dorian's no-doubt sensitive ass. The mage shifts his weight, pressing his hips upward. It’s hard not to laugh; Dorian's attempt at subtlety leaves something to be desired. 

Bull’s as gentle as he can be, but Dorian still hisses and jerks away as the cloth swipes over the still-sensitive flesh. “Too much?” Bull asks again.

Dorian shakes his head. “It’s just cold.”

“Well, I’m no mage. I can’t exactly heat the water by thinking about it,” Bull says. 

There’s a sound halfway between a sigh and growl, and one of Dorian's hands emerges from under the blanket. He points at the washbasin and snaps his fingers. Steam begins to rise from the basin.

“Is that a hint?” Bull laughs as he gets up to rinse the cloth. He takes a second to clean himself off, then returns to the bed. Carefully, he runs the cloth over Dorian. Judging by the satisfied groan, it feels pretty good. Grinning, Bull follows up the warm towel by blowing a stream of cool air over Dorian's skin. 

“Vishante kaffas.” Dorian tries to sound indignant, but there’s more than a hint of a laugh in his voice. He flops to lay on his back. His eyes are glinting, and he’s more than half-hard. “That’s a cruel trick, Bull.”

“Yeah?” Bull smirks, swiping the remnants of Dorian's come from his stomach. He blows gently, and Dorian shivers, his cock twitching. “I can be a lot crueler, if that's what you want.”

The look on Dorian's face makes it pretty clear that he  _ wants. _ Still, Bull waits. There’s times when a look is enough. For this, it’s not. Way too much room for disaster.

“What if it is? What then?” Dorian purrs, but there’s a hint of apprehension in the line of his neck.

“For tonight, we can stick to the playbook. If you want more, maybe we can talk sometime. When your fucking delicious cock isn’t six inches from my mouth.”

It’s subtle, but Bull can see Dorian relax a little, but not all the way. “Katoh’s the word, then.” The little smirk he gives Bull goes straight to his cock.

Bull growls and runs his tongue along Dorian's length. Dorian moans, arching his back. It’s languid, both in sound and in gesture, and Bull’s fully hard now. Bull hums. No way he’s gonna fuck Dorian again tonight. Some might look upon that as a limitation, but Bull only sees some interesting possibilities.

He rears up. “Damn. You taste so good, Dorian. I could lick you all night.”

Dorian's laugh is throaty and wicked. “That doesn’t sound very cruel to me.”

“No? How long you think you can take it before I let you come, ‘Vint? Half hour? An hour?” 

Some of the confidence has slipped off Dorian's face. 

“Thought so. You having second thoughts?” Bull says. “Because I’m gonna enjoy it no matter how long it takes. Don’t push yourself on my account. I’m just glad you’re here.”

Dorian blinks rapidly, confused. So Bull kisses him, tender and slow, like before. And Dorian's moaning, but it seems like he’s moaning more from relief than pleasure. 

When Bull pulls away, Dorian swallows hard. After the tiniest pause, he says, “Maybe... some other time? Not at three in the morning?”

Bull smiles. “Sure. Sure.” He’s about to ask if Dorian wants to just go back to sleep, when he feels the mage’s hand slide up his chest, trailing sparks across Bull’s skin.

“Maybe I could take care of you, instead,” Dorian whispers. 

Bull’s eye flutters closed at the sensation, and he growls. “Fuck, Dorian, that feels so  _ good.”  _

“You know I can focus magic in other places than just my hand.” Dorian raises an eyebrow as Bull gasps. 

Not many people can make Bull gasp. He looks down at Dorian. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Dorian leans up for another kiss. Sure enough, his tongue is laced with the faint snap of electricity. Bull groans, unable to contain himself. His hips start bucking. 

Dorian laughs and slithers southward. He wraps his lips around the head of Bull’s cock. Bull rocks into his mouth, looking for that tingle, but the mage is teasing him, holding back. 

With a growl, Bull cards his fingers in Dorian's hair. He tugs.

Dorian gives a moaning chuckle and lets the electricity loose on his tongue. 

“Fuck!” Bull shouts. It take everything he has not to shove his cock deeper into Dorian's mouth. Somehow, Dorian manages to take more of him in, letting up on the magic so he can suck in earnest. 

“Touch yourself,” Bull grunts. “Lemme see you.”

Dorian is quick to comply. He’s matching the pace of his mouth with his hand, and his moans are in time with both. Damn, it’s good. The moment is poised, a stasis of pleasure that Bull could spend a while enjoying. Maybe a long while. 

But it builds. And builds. And builds. Some invisible threshold is reached and surpassed, and suddenly it’s become desperate, wanton, on both their accounts. Bull is thrusting his hips, fucking into Dorian's mouth and fist. Dorian's other hand is working his cock at an impossibly fast clip. 

“Shit Dorian, you’re gonna make me come. That what you want?”

The mage answers by nodding eagerly. He looks up, his grey eyes almost black, a softness, almost a yielding in his gaze. Bull couldn’t look away if he tried. Not that he wants to. In fact it’s possible he’s never wanted anything more than to stare into those eyes as the lust coils tighter and tighter. 

“Ahh, Kadan, that's it, I’m gonna.... Shit, I’m gonna come.” 

Dorian pumps Bull with his fist, now warm from magic. His mouth is open, the tip of Bull’s cock rubbing just barely on his tongue. His face is still open and vulnerable and giving, and Bull can’t wait any longer. He spills over with a babble of Qunlat obscenities. Dorian keeps his mouth open and steady without flinching, the fluid spilling over his tongue and down his chin.

Before Bull’s completely finished, he leans down and licks Dorian's face clean, following it up with a kiss, tasting himself in the mage’s mouth. Dorian almost pulls away, but Bull holds him still, cradling the back of his head as he deepens the kiss with a hungry growl.

Dorian whimpers under the combination of Bull’s kiss and his grip. His hand falters. Bull reaches down and takes over, wrapping his hand around Dorian's fist.

The intensity of Dorian's whines increases until he’s practically sobbing. His whole body is taut, quivering with potential energy like a drawn bowstring. And then he snaps, bucking and shuddering wildly before he eventually collapses forward on to Bull’s chest.

They settle back to the bed. Bull’s exhausted in the best possible way. Dorian's almost boneless now, draped half-on and half-off Bull’s body. 

Bull waits a minute. “You alright?”

“Oddly enough, I think I am. Aside from not really understanding any of this. How did we get here again?”

“Fucked if I know. All I know is, this feels good.” Bull says. 

“It does, doesn’t it,” Dorian yawns, his eyes falling closed. 

Bull reaches over to put out the candle. He’s just a bit too far away, his hand outstretched. 

The motion causes Dorian to open one eye. “Really? When will you learn, Bull?” He waves and the candle is extinguished. 

“I think I could get used to this.” Bull murmurs.

There’s a pause. Bull knows Dorian's not asleep yet, even though his eyes are closed. Maybe he pushed too far. Maybe it was too much. Maybe....

“Me too.” Dorian's voice is quiet and far away.

Despite the exhaustion, those two words keep Bull awake a long while, his heart full and a smile on his face.


	14. Struggle is an Illusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes things are more complicated than Bull likes.

Falling asleep happy is one thing. But waking up happy is exponentially better, Bull decides. Especially when there’s a naked grey-eyed mage smiling up at him.

“Morning,” Dorian murmurs.

“Why, hello, gorgeous.” Bull smiles back.

There’s only the merest momentary flinch in Dorian's eyes this time. “Sleep well?”

“Mmm,” Bull rumbles in contentment. “Every time I wake up with you I think I’ve never slept better.”

Dorian's eyebrows knit together in confusion, though a smile still lingers. “Are you implying I’m a soporific?”

“Hold on, let me get my thesaurus.” Bull reaches over to the drawer on his nightstand.

Dorian smacks him. “Don’t play ‘big dumb ox-man’ with me, Iron Bull. I know better.” He stretches like a cat. 

Bull ghosts his fingertips up Dorian's spine. “Sorry, were you saying something? I got distracted.”

The shiver that moves through Dorian is poetry. Bull repeats the motion, stroking down, and this time Dorian whimpers. 

“Shame we had such a long night,” Dorian sighs. 

“Speak for yourself, big guy,” Bull smirks.

“Really? Are you serious?” Dorian's blinking fast. 

Bull snorts. “I’ve had like, what, four hours of sleep since the last time? Pssh.”

“Since the last  _ two  _ times,” Dorian corrects him.

“Your point is?”

“Venedhis, what have I gotten myself into?” Dorian is laughing as he shakes his head. 

“I thought I was the one getting in. But if you wanna switch it up, I’m game.” Bull ruffles Dorian's hair and sits up.

The mage’s hands automatically go to his hair. Bull laughs as he retrieves his trousers. He tosses Dorian's clothes at him, piece by piece, snickering at the man’s completely unconvincing protests. 

“You wanna grab some breakfast?” Bull offers.

“Oh. I... have to meet Vivienne. For tea.” Dorian busies himself with the buckles on his boots. 

It’s obvious something’s not quite right, but Bull doesn’t push. “Don’t call her ‘Viv’, whatever you do.”

“Do I look stupid?” Dorian smirks. He puts his hand on the doorknob. It looks like he’s going to say something else, but instead he just looks over his shoulder at Bull and smiles. He opens the door a crack, and after a miniscule pause he strides out to the battlements.

It feels like Bull swallowed a block of ice. Because it looked an awful lot like Dorian was trying to sneak out.

Or maybe Bull’s seeing things that aren’t there. Bull’s never done this before. He’s on edge, hyperconscious of the fact that he’d hurt Dorian. He never wants to do that again. He  _ won’t _ do that again. Period.

Maybe it’s just a throwback to the bullshit Dorian dealt with in Tevinter. They’d never really acknowledged there was anything between them before; Bull had ended it before it had really begun. Maybe Dorian is just used to sneaking around.

Except the next morning, the same thing happens. This time Dorian has to meet Evelyn. And he makes up an excuse to talk for a few extra minutes, after he opened the door and saw someone on the battlements. 

After the third day, Bull’s legitimately concerned. Something’s wrong. It’s not just Dorian being embarrassed to leave his room. When they see each other during the day, Dorian ties himself in knots to avoid even the most basic gestures of affection. He’s not unfriendly, he just makes sure there’s at least half a room between them at all times. 

Once again, Dorian had snuck out of Bull’s room at first light, saying he needed to catch up on correspondence. Bull pretends he doesn’t hear the lie and lets Dorian go.

Damn. He needs to figure this out. Bull wanders to the dining hall. Porridge again, but there's still some sausage left. He fills his plate to just shy of "heaping" and takes a seat next to Varric.

"Tiny," Varric says. "Have a good night?"

"You could say that," Bull grins. “You might want to ask Dorian, though.”

“Ah.” The dwarf keeps his the remark neutral, but it’s tinged with disapproval. Varric slices into his sausage and regards it. "They say this is venison, but I'd swear it's nug meat. I don't know what's worse - that they're lying to us, or that it's so damn tasty."

“Varric, don’t pull that change-the-subject crap on me. You got something to say, just say it.” Bull frowns at his plate.

“Look. I like you, Tiny. You seem to have a good heart, you care about your men and the Inquisitor, and that means a lot. But I like Dorian too. And I gotta tell you, it’s no fun to see someone suffer. Trust me. I watched Hawke mope for three damn years until Broody got over whatever the hell it was.”

It feels like Bull's got a nest of snakes in his stomach. "You think I didn't suffer?"

Shrugging, Varric chews his sausage. After a moment, he answers. "Kinda hard to tell what's going on with you. You seemed fine to me. Not to mention screwing half the Inquisition in the meantime."

Shit. If Varric thinks that, does Dorian think that, too? That it was  _ easy  _ to let him go? That Bull didn't care? Bull sinks his head into his hands. "Fuck."

"Whoa, there. You all right?"

"No. No, I'm not all right. I gotta go." Bull pushes himself away from the table.

Varric watches him go, one eyebrow cocked in confusion. "Well, don't mind if I do," he says to himself as he spears Bull's sausage and puts it on his own plate.

Bull strides through the keep. He’s pissed at himself. And the more Bull thinks about it, the worse it gets. 

Because once he looks at it from the other side, it's not pretty. Bull ended it, and then it was Bull's call to get back together. Everything had been on Bull's terms. What had it cost Dorian to come back? His pride? His self-esteem? No fucking wonder he sneaks out. 

When he passes a maid in the hall and she flinches, Bull realizes his anger is getting out of control. He stops. He takes a deep breath. And another. And a third, because why the hell not. 

What do humans do in these situations? Aside from blab to each other for hours on end? Fuck if he knows. Bull’s anger dissipates under the weight of self-doubt. 

The bell sounds for mid-morning. Bull’s got shit to do. He can worry about this later.

Commander Cullen is in his tower, peering up at his bookshelves when Bull knocks on the open door. The man instantly turns rosy pink, stuttering a greeting.

Bull fights the urge to grin. Apparently their discussion a few days ago about Krem was still in the forefront of Cullen's thoughts. “Leliana sent word you had something for me,” Bull says.

“We’ve been receiving some strange reports out of the Free Marches.” Cullen rifles through a stack of papers on his desk, selecting a parchment and handing it over. “Could you take a look?”

Bull nods and takes the parchment. “Not sure how much help I’ll be without my contacts, but I’ll do what I can.”

Cullen nods. The gesture is sympathetic without being cloying, which Bull appreciates. “How are you holding up? When I left the Templars, I was adrift for quite a while.” 

Bull shrugs. “Between Evelyn and Dorian, I’ve gotten a couple good pep talks.”

There’s no mistaking it - at the mention of Dorian's name, Cullen tenses up. Not a lot. His eyelids tighten and his posture shifts a fraction of an inch. “That’s good,” he says, a touch of steel behind the words.

Bull blinks. So much for ‘worry about it later’. “You don’t approve?” He does Cullen the favor of not spelling it out. They both know what he’s talking about.

Cullen looks down at his desk, shifting the reports. “It’s not my place to approve or disapprove.”

Bull shifts his weight to one hip, tilting his horns. “You’re his friend. I’d say that's grounds for having an opinion.”

With an exasperated sigh, Cullen stops pretending to organize his papers and looks up. “Are you asking me what I think?”

“I’m not made of glass.” Bull says. “And maybe it’ll keep me from fucking it all up again. So, yeah. I’m asking what you think.”

“I think you broke his heart. I think he never fully recovered. I think he’s convinced himself that he’s strong enough to withstand it when you tire of him and end it again. And I think the Maker had better have mercy on your soul when that day comes.” Cullen says it matter-of-fact, tugging his tunic straight over his breastplate. 

“You think that's gonna happen? That I’m just gonna toss him away?”

“You did it once.” 

Bull crosses his arms. “Lemme ask you something, Cullen. All those years you spent in the Circles. You ever fall for a mage?”

Cullen blinks rapidly, as clear a  _ yes  _ as if he’d said it aloud. “What’s your point?”

“What did you do about it?”

Cullen swallows hard. “Nothing, of course. It would have been wrong.”

“Yeah? Why?”

He frowns. “Do I really need to explain why it’s inappropriate for a Templar to have a relationship with a mage?”

“I’m just saying -- those rules were put there for a reason, and you followed them. If you met that mage now, I’m guessing things might be a little different. I had my own rules, and now I don’t. If you can see the difference, I’d like to hear it.”

Cullen's frown deepens. “The difference is, when that mage attempted to... get to know me better, I was strong enough not to get involved in the first place.”

Bull realizes that his little example wasn’t quite so hypothetical. “Wait, so... that really happened?”

“Yes.” 

Bull raises his eyebrows. “Damn, Commander. What did you do?”

“I... ran away,” Cullen mumbles the words, once again futzing with the crap on his desk.

“What was that?” Bull can’t quite hide the laughter edging into his voice.

“I ran away,” Cullen snaps, exasperated. 

“Like, literally? In your Templar armor and everything?”

“Yes, if you must know.” 

Bull just stares at him, trying vainly not to grin. “What did they do?”

“She... chased me.” 

It’s too much. Bull bursts out laughing. “She  _ chased  _ you?”

Cullen's laughing now too. “Er, yes. Quite a ways, actually. I had to go to the cellar to get away from her.”

“Please tell me I can meet this woman, who chased a goddamned Templar through her Circle.” Bull raises his gaze heavenward.

“Best of luck finding her. She became the Hero of Ferelden.” 

“Holy shit, Cullen, are you fucking shitting me? Does Leliana know about this?” 

Cullen rubs the back of his neck. He’s blushing and grinning sheepishly. “Probably. Almost definitely. She gave me a very... knowing look, when we met.” 

Bull roars with laughter again. 

“Well isn’t this a surprise.” Dorian's voice drawls from behind Bull. He turns as the mage saunters closer. “Care to let me in on the joke?”

“The Commander here was telling me about his little adventure getting chased through Kinloch by a mage.”

“Oh!” Dorian claps his hands in delight. “I love that story! Did he tell you her hair was in pigtails?”

Cullen looks like he’s attempting to blush himself out of existence. Bull’s stomach, meanwhile, literally hurts from laughing so much.

“Well as much as I’d love another dramatic retelling of  _ The Pursuit of Rutherford _ , I came to fetch you for chess.” Dorian smirks.

“Oh, thank the Maker.” Cullen sighs with relief. He looks at Bull, his face now serious. “I... take it our previous conversation was understood.” 

Bull nods. “I heard you. I’ll be careful.”

“See that you are.”

Dorian's looking between them suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

“Soldier stuff. Nothing you frilly mages would understand.” Bull lies easily. 

“Frilly?” Dorian puts his hands on his hips.

“Perhaps you mean ‘frivolous’,” Cullen suggests.

_ “Frivolous?”  _ Dorian's voice goes up half an octave.

“Fritillary?” Bull cocks an eyebrow.

“No, I think that's a type of butterfly,” Cullen nods seriously. “Although...” He tilts his head from side to side, considering.

“I am going to murder you both.” Dorian's voice drips with acid.

“Okay, big guy.” Bull drops a hand on Dorian's shoulder as he turns and makes his way out. He squeezes gently, and as he pulls his hand away, he brushes up and down Dorian's jawline with the back of his fingers. 

Dorian looks momentarily panicked, his eyes wild. 

“Dinner later?” Bull keeps his voice casual.

Dorian's eyes dart to Cullen, as if looking for approval. Bull pretends he didn’t see it. “Er, I suppose.”

“Good. See you then,” Bull smiles at him once more and walks out.

He doesn’t get far before he abandons the charade. Now that the laughter isn’t demanding his attention, Bull starts to panic. Not a lot, but it’s there, a squirming flea buried under his skin.

Varric was one thing. Cullen was another. Apparently everyone thought Bull was just after a bit of ‘Vint tail. Which, yeah, that part was fucking amazing, but Dorian was his kadan. Bull thought Dorian understood that. The guy taught himself Qunlat, after all.

He heads back to his quarters, his brain still looping back on itself, a knot of guilt and confusion and more guilt. 

He’s got his hand on the doorknob when the words are spoken next to him, calm and simple. “It sounds different.” 

The years of fighting the fog warriors allows Bull to maintain his composure when Cole appears from nowhere. “Uh,” Bull squints at the kid. “What?”

“The word sounds different when you say it now, the shape of it doesn’t match. Before it was a door he was afraid to walk through, now it's a wall he can’t get beyond. He wants to believe but he is scared, scarred.”

Bull fights the urge to growl. He fucking hates riddles. “What word?”

“Kadan.” Cole blinks at him.

There’s no point in asking any more questions. Bull’s spent a couple missions with the kid, and asking him to clarify the things he says is begging for a headache. 

“Thanks, kid.” Bull sighs.

Cole doesn’t move, watching as Bull starts to shut the door in his face. It’s creepy. If he wasn’t so focused on his own problems, maybe Bull would tell Cole that it freaks people out, but it’s not worth it. 

Bull heaves himself on to the bed. He doesn’t take naps, normally, but then again, there’s nothing stopping him. Not like he got a lot of sleep last night. He lays back, willing his thoughts to calm themselves. Within a few minutes he’s in that liminal state, halfway between sleeping and waking.

“Holy shit,” he says, sitting straight up. “He doesn’t know what it  _ means _ . Holy fucking shit.” Bull leaps out of bed and charges towards the door. He almost knocks into Cole, who was apparently still standing there, which is still creepy as fuck, but no time for that now. Bull’s gotta get to the library before Dorian finishes his chess game. 

“I helped,” Cole says as Bull takes the stairs three at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, loyal readers, at some point, I will be (most likely) moving past the end of the main game and into Trespasser territory. I could try to split this into two separate fics, which would mess with continuity? Or I could just tag the crap out of it when I get to that point, and people looking to avoid spoilers could... stop reading? 
> 
> What do you all think? I want to be as sensitive to spoilers as possible.


	15. The Greater Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull gives an impromptu lesson in Qunlat.

It’s not easy to find out where Dorian sleeps. Bull finally has to ask Ser Morris. The quartermaster gave a half-hearted attempt to refuse, citing privacy issues.

“Look, just tell me,” Bull sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re not Threnn. Don’t try to be a badass.”

“Ah... yes. No, I mean. Right. Pavus, Pavus,” Morris flips through a list. “East wing, second level, fourth room on the left.”

Bull’s not a rogue, but he can jimmy a simple lock. So he does, letting himself into Dorian's room.

It’s tiny. Tiny and perfectly Dorian. There’s a narrow bed draped with artfully mismatched, yet luxurious, scraps of fabric. A worn vanity with a spotted mirror, so dainty it looks about to topple under the weight of the bottles of unguents and oils. Stacks and stacks of books, of course. And every available surface is covered in candle remnants, all melted together. 

It’s not the room of a rich man. Bull kind of wants to show it to Skinner. He feels a swell of pride and affection. Dorian's vain, and a fucking snob if ever there was one, but here he is, in the belly of the south, living in a room smaller than one of his closets back in Tevinter, and piecing together candles from scraps so he can spend all his coin on books. 

Bull settles in on the bed. He doesn’t have to wait long. Within fifteen minutes he hears Dorian swear in surprise as he finds the door unlocked.

“It’s just me,” Bull calls out through the door. Best not to startle mages too much. 

“Vishante kaffas, what are you doing here?” Dorian's frowning at him, but it’s not quite sticking. Bull can tell it’s taking a lot of effort to stop from breaking into a grin.

Bull holds up the book he found in Dorian's nook in the library. “Thought it was time I returned the favor on the translation.”

Dorian looks at the volume in Bull’s hands, his eyes narrowing as he sees the cover. “I don’t understand.”

“Well maybe you can blame it on this guy.” Bull opens to the page he marked earlier and began to read. “ _ Kadan. A word used to recognize an intimate friend; a colleague or comrade; a brother-in-arms. As the Qunari do not seem capable of true affection or love, it is assumed that a colloquial translation would be akin to ‘confrere’, ‘pal’, or _ \-- and this is my favorite --  _ ‘chum’. _ ” Bull looks up from the book. “I thought chum was a kind of baitfish.”

Dorian crosses his arms and leans on one hip. “You broke into my room to ask about baitfish?”

“No no, see, it gets better. This author’s great, I’m telling you. Here’s one:  _ As-eb vashe-qalab. This is akin to qalaba excrement. _ Who the fuck talks like that?” Bull shakes his head, laughing.

“What does it mean, then?” 

“It means this is bullshit,” Bull tosses the book at Dorian. “How the fuck you managed to translate that canto I’ll never know.”

“First you want to talk fishing, now you want to insult my library, is that it?” Dorian hunkers down to set the book atop one of the teetering stacks.

“I came to tell you what kadan means.”

Dorian's suddenly very engrossed in straightening the pile of books. “Not intimate friend, then, I take it?” 

“No.” Bull says the word and waits. 

Dorian fusses with the stack for a few more seconds. “Well, are you going to tell me or what?”

“It means ‘my heart’.”

Dorian's still fiddling around with his crap, now down on his knees. He’s mostly got his back turned, so Bull can’t see his face. But he hears the quiver in Dorian's otherwise disaffected “oh?”

“Just thought I’d clear that up.” Bull sits patiently.

“I see.” Dorian stops pretending to neaten the now-perfectly balanced pile of books. “Why are you here really?” Dorian turns his face but not his body.

“Because. Cullen and Varric and who-knows-the-fuck-else seem to think that maybe I don’t give a shit about you. That maybe I’m just looking for a good lay, and once I get bored I’m gonna toss you aside. That because I keep up a strong front, it didn’t hurt for every fucking minute we were apart. I seem to remember you being afraid of that before. Seems like maybe you still are.”

Dorian frowns, lowers his head.

“Is that why you sneak out of my room every morning? You afraid people think you crawled back to me the second I snapped my fingers, like you don’t deserve better?” Bull leans his elbows on his knees.

Dorian's jaw is working hard and his eyes look a little wet. “That’s exactly what I did, isn’t it?”

Bull slides off the bed and kneels behind Dorian. He wraps his arms around the mage, feeling the tension in his body. “Not the way I see it. The way I see it, I’m the one that doesn’t deserve better, not you.”

Dorian shudders, but doesn’t relax. 

Bull sighs. “Kadan. Do you know why I ended it, before?”

Dorian looks like he’s going to say something, but instead he just shakes his head.

“Because I’ve never wanted someone so badly. Ever. It scared the shit out of me. Being around you was shaking the core of every belief I had. And I couldn’t handle it. I’m weak. Maybe if I was as strong as you, I could have told the Qun to go fuck themselves. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t strong enough, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. And I’ll be damned if I know why you would.”

Bull hadn’t meant to confess so much. But once he starts, the words spill out, fueled by the fear that he’d broken whatever was between them so badly that it couldn’t be repaired. 

The moment where nothing happens feels like a lifetime. Maybe longer. And then Dorian relaxes, just the merest amount. “Tell me again, what kadan means,” Dorian murmurs.

“My heart.”

Dorian's eyes fall shut, and he turns his head, nuzzling against the underside of Bull’s chin. “Again.” Dorian relaxes against him further, like a flower opening.

“My heart.” Bull’s voice is little more than a whisper now. 

Dorian is twisting in his arms, turning halfway to face him. He rears up, hands cradling Bull’s cheeks, scalding him in a kiss. “Again,” he demands, breathing the word into Bull’s mouth.

“My heart.” Now Bull’s half-moaning, half-growling, the heat of the moment getting to him. “Ebost kadan. You are my heart. Rath herah kadan. Forever my heart.”

Dorian turns the rest of the way, straddling Bull’s thighs. The rest of Bull’s words prove extraneous, as Dorian seems intent on kissing the life out of him. 

Bull scoots backwards, resting his back against the side of the bed. Dorian moves with him, whining when the motion breaks the contact between them. Bull makes up for it by cradling him close, running one hand up and down his back, carding the other through Dorian's hair. 

Dorian reaches his hand between them, stroking Bull through the thin fabric of his trousers. It’s incredible. Bull wonders how much more incredible it would feel if Dorian were riding him. 

Dorian pulls away, panting, his body still rocking. “Do you... are you... can we....”

“I’m not going anywhere, kadan.” 

“Thank fuck for that.” Dorian gasps with relief. “Don’t move.” He slides away from Bull, and with the grace of a dancer, he leaps up, locking the door, then grabbing a bottle of oil from the bedside table. Somehow he loses most of his clothing in the process.

“Why are you still dressed?” He stares at Bull in consternation.

“You said not to move.” Bull grins.

Dorian's face hardens to a comically stony look of disapproval. “You want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself, is that it?”

Bull just grins and laces his hands behind his head. 

“You are a bad, bad man.” 

“You like it,” Bull accuses with a smile. 

“I do more than  _ like  _ it,” Dorian says without hesitation. Then he blinks several times when he realizes what he said. 

Before the panic can truly crystallize in the mage’s face, Bull pulls him down to his lap. “I’m good with that.” And then he’s kissing Dorian, slow and lazy and relaxed. 

Dorian eases into it, the tension ebbing away as Bull’s hands cradle his cheeks. Damn, it’s just so fucking good. Dorian makes this breathy moan right into his mouth, and Bull’s body leaps to respond. The moan turns into a knowing chuckle as Bull’s cock throbs against Dorian's thigh. 

“You like that, too?” Bull grins.

Dorian hums low in his throat, grinding against him. “I do.”

“Fuck, Dorian, I can’t get enough of you.” Bull’s hands drift down to grab Dorian's ass, gripping it hard. He dips his head, licking at Dorian's nipples, following it up with his teeth. 

“I’m good with that,” Dorian laughs, breathlessly, arching into Bull’s touch. “Let me ride you?”

“Like I’d ever say no to that.” There’s a moment or two of fumbling, as Bull’s belt and trousers are dealt with, and the oil applied. But then Bull’s slipping a slick finger into Dorian, and the mage is reaching down to stroke Bull, and they’re moving, rocking just a bit, their foreheads pressed together, stealing open mouth half-kisses from each other. 

And soon enough Dorian is pushing Bull’s hand away, reaching around to guide Bull inside him, sliding ever so slowly down, and then back up. 

Ever since the Storm Coast, whenever they’re together, Bull’s felt this sensation, almost an ache, each time a little more. Maybe it’s emotional, maybe it’s physical, maybe both. This is what he’d been afraid of, one of the many fears the Qun had instilled under the guise of making him strong. And now he knows why: if he’d allowed himself to feel this before, he’d have abandoned the Qun in a heartbeat. Because right now, there was nothing in the world but Dorian.

The current known geography of the universe was surely contained in Dorian's shuddering gasp, the quiver of his leg muscles, the line of sweat that beads on his breastbone. The forces which shaped matter and energy: right now they were encapsulated in the response of Bull’s body, the pleasure building and building with each thrust. 

“Bull.” Dorian's voice is strangled, tinged with panic, like he’s overwhelmed.

“I’m here, kadan. I’m right here with you. That's it, kadan. Oh. Oh, that's it. That's _ it. _ Fuck.” Bull grunts. He rips his hands away from Dorian's ass, gripping his hands behind his own back, lessening the temptation to shove the mage onto his cock. 

Dorian is rolling his hips, moaning whines escaping his lips. “Bull, I’m going to - I’m -” The rest is incomprehensible. It’s only then that Bull realizes that Dorian's not touching his own cock. No wonder he’s overwhelmed.

Bull reaches up, pulls Dorian to him for a kiss, holding him there gently, sliding his tongue across Dorian's. For his part, Dorian clutches at Bull’s back, nails scraping hard. The sensation puts Bull over the edge, despite his attempt to hold himself back. He’s groaning, breaking the kiss to bite at Dorian's shoulder, bucking his hips up as far as they’ll go. 

Thankfully, Dorian's right behind him, clenching as the pulses begin, drawing Bull’s own climax out even longer. 

The first words out of Dorian's mouth after he stops shuddering are “I'm sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry?” Bull manages to say.

“You deserve better. I shouldn’t have snuck out.” Dorian slides his hand up Bull’s cheek to his horns. 

“Most do,” Bull shrugs. “The second time, anyway, for those that come back a second time. Which isn't many. The novelty wears off fast, I guess.”

Dorian looks horrified. 

“It’s all right. Never bothered me, until you,” Bull says, and it's close enough to the truth.

“How many?” Dorian demands, his voice sharp.

“What do you mean?” 

“How many came back for a second time?” Dorian asks. 

Bull pauses. “Shit, I dunno.” Which is a lie. Of course he knows. But conversations about these kind of numbers sometimes don't go over so well.

“Poppycock. You know exactly how many,” Dorian frowns.

Bull sighs. “Fifteen.”

Dorian's frown fades into sympathy. “Out of the  _ hundreds  _ of lovers you've bedded, only fifteen came back for a second time?”

Bull clears his throat, shifting in discomfort. “Uh, maybe not  _ hundreds _ .”

Dorian frowns again and slaps his chest with a palm of sparks. “Don't try to change the subject. How many came back a third time?” 

“Why does it matter?” Bull asks.

“Because it  _ matters,” _ Dorian says.

Wiping at the scar under his eyepatch, Bull knows Dorian won’t let it go until he answers, though why it’s important is a mystery. “Fine. Six came back for a third time. And only two for more after that.” Bull says. “You and an Orlesian woman. And she swore me to secrecy, so don't ask her name. Doesn’t want anyone to know she likes to get tied up.”

Dorian's eyes are so full of sympathy that Bull’s chest clenches a little. He tries to look away, but Dorian grabs his cheeks, holding his face steady. “I’m so sorry. Bull - I - kaffas, I’ve made a mess of things.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Bull says. It’s harder to say the words than it should be, the clenching ache now rising up to the back of his throat. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Dorian's shaking his head. “Bull, I know what it does, that kind of deception. It makes you doubt everything. At first it doesn’t matter, because who cares? And then you think, well, this is just how it is. It’s this or nothing. And then you forget you ever deserved more. I know all that, and yet I did the same to you, because I was too wrapped up in what people thought, too scared to think this might be... Amatus, I’m so sorry.” He lets go, sliding his hands down to wrap around Bull, once again resting his head on Bull’s shoulder.

Bull hugs him back. There’s a lot he wants to say. He wants to know what Amatus means. He wants to tell Dorian that he’s scared, too. That he - 

_ Not the time, _ he thinks. Instead, he pets Dorian's hair. “You’ve got one thing wrong, Dorian.”

“Impossible,” Dorian says after a pause. “I’m never wrong.” Bull can’t see his face, but he can hear how thick his voice is.

“I never forgot I deserved more, because I never knew I did. I learned that from you, just now.” Bull’s glad Dorian can’t see him. His eye is a little wet and his nose has a funny tingling sensation, like it might start running. He sniffles.

Dorian rears back, peering at Bull’s face. He wipes at Bull’s cheek, rubbing away the moisture between thumb and forefinger. “Let me guess, allergies?”

Bull huffs a laugh. “Something like that.”

Pushing himself up, Dorian grinned. “Come on. I need to visit the baths before we go to dinner.” He held out a hand.

Bull took Dorian's hand and hauled himself to standing. “I’m good with that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, folks, it's gonna be a couple weeks before I can update this one again, most likely. I'm up to my neck in boxes - moving is awful. Never do it.
> 
> Anyway, this is a good place to pause, I think. Hope you enjoyed it!


	16. Nothing Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull's not good with dates.

If Bull had to put a word to the state of his relationship with Dorian, it would be  _ delicate _ . Even just thinking about it as a relationship seems strange. He thought that now that the feelings were more or less on the table, things would just... happen. Or something? He hadn’t planned this far ahead. 

It’s more like dancing or sparring than Bull expected. But he’s pretty good at both of those things. And a big part of either was staying one step ahead. So, since Dorian had taught himself Qunlat, the least Bull can do is find out what  _ amatus _ means. Especially since he doesn’t have to look it up. He only has to ask.

“Krem de la krem!” Bull shouts, striding across the courtyard towards the Chargers, waiting for their turn in the practice ring.

“Chief,” Krem grins. “You’re looking in fine fettle.”

“Fettle?” Bull squints at him.

Skinner’s lounging against the tavern wall. “I agree, Krem. He looks positively splendiferous.”

“Uh,” Bull hesitates. 

The Chargers continue without missing a beat. Rocky’s stroking his chin. “I think he looks delightfully refulgent.”

Dalish nods. “Maybe it’s the mountain air. Quite rejuvenative.”

“She’s right,” Stitches butts in. “Vivifying, is what it is.”

Everyone looks at Grim; they're practically quivering with anticipation. There’s a long pause, and then Grim looks at his hand and reads, “Salubrious.”

The Chargers lose it, falling over themselves with the laughter they’ve kept pent up. Bull has no fucking idea what’s going on, but it’s hilarious. He laughs. “You guys wanna clue me in here?”

“Funny thing, Chief. Went to fetch you the other morning, and I heard all sorts of new words through your door.” Krem grins.

“Amatus!” Skinner sing songs in a squeaky high voice, holding a hand out to Dalish.

“Kadan!” Dalish lowers her voice as far as it’ll go, letting Skinner spin her into a dip. They start deep-tongue kissing.

“Alright, I get it.” Bull pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, I know you don’t like him, but -”

“Nah, it’s good,” Krem interrupts him. “Never seen you like this. It’s good.” 

“What?” Bull looks skeptical. “Really?”

Krem laughs, shaking his head. “It means that much to you, what we think of your little loverboy? You  _ do _ have it bad.”

It would be touching, except that the two elves are still making out, and they're rounding the corner on a free show. The fighters in the practice ring stop sparring to stare at the women. Bull calls a halt to the action. “C’mon you guys, knock it off!” He chucks a clot of dirt at the elves. 

Sighing, Bull cocks his head at Krem. They walk a few yards away. “Look. I need to ask you something. What does  _ amatus _ actually mean?” He keeps his voice low. 

“You can’t guess?” Krem smirks.

“I don’t want to guess,” Bull growls. “I want to know.”

Krem groans. “Augh, c’mon, Chief, it’s just a turn of phrase like... honey, or sweetie.”

Bull stops smiling. “Krem. Just tell me what it means.”

The grin slides from Krem’s face. “It means my beloved,” he says at once.

There’s a little explosion of warmth in Bull’s chest. “Thank you,” he says. “Was that so hard?” He squeezes Krem’s shoulder and ruffles his hair.

“To say to you, Chief? Shit yeah.” Krem snickers. 

Bull almost asks him about Cullen. But there’s line of worry that creases Krem’s brow, despite his laugh. So Bull keeps his mouth shut. Instead they chat for a few more minutes about their next job. Krem’s leading the boys out in a few days to take care of some bandits in the Hinterlands. Simple enough. His boys can do it with their eyes closed, but Bull always takes the time to check in, just in case. 

Once that's taken care of, Bull comes to a decision. He wants to do something special. For Dorian. Humans do that, right? Flowers and wine and crap? He can do that. A plan starts to form in his head. Yeah. Yeah, he can do this. It’s gonna be great.

***

Bull drags himself to breakfast the next morning. He feels like shit. That’ll happen when you spend half the night squatting over a bucket, clutching your stomach and crapping your brains out.  _ So much for something special. _

It had become a semi-regular thing, this group breakfast. Probably Josephine’s idea -- foster teamwork or something. They all got together for a morning meal, every week or so when the Inquisitor was in Skyhold. Bull had intended to show up with Dorian; it would have been the first time they’d attended one of these meals as... whatever they were. Together.

Plans change. Maybe next time. 

Before Bull even pushes the door to the dining hall open, he can hear the laughter. Dorian's velvet baritone is mixed in there. Great.

“And there he is!” Dorian crows, triumphant, an enormous grin on his face.

There had been a moment, before he heard Dorian laughing, that Bull had hoped that the sordid details of last night’s misadventures would stay a secret. But a glance at the mage tells the story: he’s not in his usual shiny buckled number, but in a soft linen tunic and loose trousers. He looks like he went native in Denerim. It works surprisingly well, actually. Bull files that away for later. 

But everyone would notice the change in costume. And of course, Dorian would have to explain. With those two elements, it’s a foregone conclusion that Dorian would tell tales.

Bull slaps a smile on his face. He knows that sometimes it’s important to play along, be a good sport, laugh at yourself. He just wishes that Dorian had waited for Bull’s crushing disappointment to fade a bit before making it all into a joke.

“Tiny! How you feeling?” Varric grins.

“Like hell, thanks for asking.” Bull sits next to Dorian and contemplates whether plain bread is a good idea. Maybe? Probably. He reaches for a slice.

“Dorian was about to tell us about your romantic evening.” Cassandra sounds a bit wistful. “With wine, and flowers, and delicacies.”

“That was the plan,” Bull rumbles around the mouthful of bread. He washes it down with some water, then waits to see what his stomach would do. 

“It was perfect,” Dorian coos. “The bath house was lit by hundreds of candles -”

“It was like a dozen,” Bull corrects him.

“- a bottle of Antivan wine at the ready -”

Josephine brightens up. “What kind?”

Dorian coughs delicately. “Ah, it was a white.”

The ambassador’s face crumples. “But Antivan whites are terrible! Antivans don’t even drink them! We ship it all to Nevarra!” As soon as the words are out of her mouth she blushes, covering her lips with her fingers.

Cassandra raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

“Was it that bad? The wine?” Trevelyan laughs, helping herself to a scone.

“It tasted like fermented dog piss.” Bull says. He’d been thrilled to find that Cabot had a bottle behind the bar to sell. Bull didn’t know a lot about wine, but he knew how happy Dorian had been with the Antivan wine all those months ago. But as soon as the liquid had hit Bull’s tongue, he choked on it. Dorian had opted for the simpler, neater expedient of spitting the wine back into his glass. 

“I was going to say  _ corked _ fermented dog piss.” Dorian adds. “But regardless, the effort was appreciated.” 

“Is that why you asked me about cheese yesterday, darling?” Vivienne smirks at Bull. “I thought it a bit odd. You should have asked me about the wine as well, my dear. I would never have recommended an Antivan white. Word to the wise: never trust a dwarf when it comes to alcohol.”

“Hey!” Varric protests, laughing.

“Two words: dwarven ale.” Vivienne raises one perfectly manicured eyebrow.

“You’ve got me there,” Varric admits. 

“The cheese was delicious,” Dorian grins. “Perfectly ripe, I might add.”

“Ripe. Oh, it was  _ ripe _ all right.” Bull scratches his horns. The cheese had  _ looked  _ fine. But once Bull cut into it, it turned out to be... gooey. And stinky as fuck. Dorian had loved it, though, so Bull ate a couple of crackers smeared with the stuff. It didn’t taste as bad as it smelled, at least.

Dorian continued to wax rhapsodic, punctuating his phrasing with dramatic flourishes of his hands. “- and there was a hot bath, scented with exotic flowers -”

“That gave you a fucking rash.” Who knew Dorian was allergic to dawn lotus? He’d broken out in hives almost immediately. Hence the loose clothes today, no doubt. And of course, as Dorian hopped out of the tub, he slipped and fell, turning his ankle, and that was right when the cheese started to disagree violently with Bull’s stomach. Bull had barely had time to help Dorian back to his chambers before bolting for his own room, where he spent the remainder of the evening dealing with the aftermath of the camembert.

By now everyone aside from Cole is laughing, calling out their favorite parts of the story, and with Cassandra insisting on top of it all that it was _ just so romantic. _ Bull joins in, half-heartedly chuckling. Should’ve known better than to think Dorian would take such a clusterfuck of a night seriously.

But then Dorian turns to him, and yeah, he’s laughing, but his eyes are shining too. It’s unexpectedly sincere, and rips Bull out of his bad mood. In a split second, he goes back over what just happened, really paying attention this time, not playing it out through the filter of his own disappointment and discomfort.

Bull realizes that Dorian hadn’t actually said anything negative. Everything he’d said, in fact, was perfectly heartfelt. With Dorian being the sarcastic little shit that he is, the others had assumed he was joking. Maybe that's what Dorian had learned to do, in Tevinter. Be so cagey about his emotions that if some real ones slipped out, no one would notice. So maybe... shit, had Dorian been  _ boasting? _ About  _ Bull?  _

“He wants to make me happy.  _ Me. _ ” Cole’s voice is quiet, but Bull hears it. He hears what’s going through Dorian's mind, and his heart melts. His smile broadens, finally fitting his face.

Dorian is still smiling at him with affection. It looks just like his normal sarcastic smile, but there’s a spark there, or maybe it’s the way his eyes crinkle a little more. Whatever it is, it’s for Bull. 

“You think the jinx is over or what?” Bull leans in close.

“I bloody well hope so,” Dorian rolls his eyes. 

Bull closes the rest of the distance and gives him a lusty kiss. A big old  _ smackeroo _ , as the Chargers would call it, dipping Dorian off the back of the bench despite his squawk of protest. The cheering around the table is cacophonous. 

“I made him happy,” Cole whispers the thoughts in Bull’s mind.  _ “I _ did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still stuck in whatever circle of hell moving house is. So, here's a short chapter, to tide you over. :)


	17. Carry You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen gets his heart broken, and some surprising truths are revealed.

Bull’s been looking for Dorian all evening. They’d settled into a nice routine, meeting up for dinner, maybe a game of Wicked Grace or a few drinks, and then up to Bull’s room. But today he’s nowhere to be found. Not in the library, or the secret library, or his room, or the Mage’s tower. 

Dumbfounded, Bull heads to the tavern. Maybe he can ask Cole. The kid seems to be able to sniff people out, even if it means dealing with the damned riddles. 

But as soon as he walks in, he sees Dorian. He’s in the corner, his hand rubbing circles into Cullen’s fuzzy shoulders.

“What’s going - whoa,” Bull says, his eyes widening when he sees the state Cullen's in. His eyes are red and puffy, and he’s just rounding the corner on solidly drunk. 

“Ohhhhh good. I was hoping for an audience. Maybe we can get the -hic- blasted bard to write a song about it.” Cullen groans. He sinks his forehead into his hands, carding his fingers through his hair. 

“What happened?” Bull straddles the bench.

“Krem,” Dorian answers quietly.

“Oh, shit,” Bull says. The Chargers had left that morning, headed out to clear out some bandits in Crestwood. 

“Exxxxxactly,” Cullen says. “Did you know, Bull? Did you? That he - that he -” Cullen shakes his head, groaning.

“Cullen. I didn’t know anything was wrong.” 

Cullen grunts, reaching for his tankard. It’s empty. He scowls into it. 

“Lemme get that for you.” Bull takes the empty mug up to the bar, exchanging it for two full ones and a bowl of spiced nuts. He puts in an order for bread and fried sausage while he’s at it. Cullen looks like he’s been drinking a while, and food never hurts.

He sets the mug down in front of the Commander. “Now, what the hell happened?”

“An evil magister convinced me to say something to him,” Cullen grumbles, swiping the ale off the table and taking a deep drink.

Dorian sighs, but doesn’t say anything.

“Didn’t go well, I take it?” Bull asks.

Cullen raises his head, fixing Bull with a look. “I remind him of before. It’s too confusing. He can’t.” Cullen ticks off the reasons, reciting them from memory.

“Shit, Cullen, I’m sorry.” Bull drinks his beer. “I... uh, never really got a good handle on Krem that way. He’s a pretty private person.” 

Cullen sighs heavily and waves him off. “‘S’fine. ‘S’fine. Should’ve known better than to -” He sighs again.

“Maybe he’ll come around,” Dorian says, and it sounds like he’s said it before, maybe a few times.

“I don’t want him to  _ come around,” _ Cullen snaps. “I want him to - I want him to know, no questions. No guessing and wondering and mooning about.”

Dorian shoots Bull a look. It’s pretty obvious that Cullen's talking about Bull. Fuck. He thought they were past that part.

Before it gets too awkward, Cabot brings over a plate of food and some forks. Cullen jabs at one of the sliced sausages and crams it into his mouth. He immediately spits it out again, whole, like a child would. “Maker’s breath, it’s hot.”

Bull can’t help it. He laughs, the kind that escape from under too much pressure and come out like a cough or sneeze. And then Dorian laughs, too. Cullen joins in, weakly. “What? It was hot.”

“Can’t take the hot sausage, eh, Commander?” Bull snickers. “You ever need pointers, you let me know.”

“By the Maker, don’t tell me he makes it hot for you,” Cullen groans, scrunching up his face in mock distaste. “That’s the last thing I need to think about.”

“Cullen!” Dorian smacks him on the arm. “I never.”

“Psh, yeah but what about when you -” Bull starts to ask, grinning.

_ “I never,” _ Dorian says again, frowning.

“Shame. I hear it’s quite something.” Cullen tries again with the sausage, this time managing to eat it without burning himself. 

“What?” Dorian sits up straight.

Cullen reaches for the bread. “You really think I could live with mages for that long and not know? There wasn't much to do in the Circles, you know. I learned quite quickly which corners of the library to not patrol quite so thoroughly.”

Dorian actually flushes a little. “Can we not talk about your dismal little mage prisons, please? Everyone knows sex is meant to happen in coat closets during garden parties, anyway.”

“I never went for closets,” Bull begins to say.

“Oh, yes, please. We all want to hear how wonderful it is to have anyone you want just by looking at them.” Cullen growls.

Bull blinks. Cullen is an angrier drunk than he expected. “I don’t fit.” Bull says.

Cullen frowns. “What?”

“Closets. I don't fit.” Bull points at his horns.

There’s a few seconds where Cullen squints at him, still scowling, but then he starts to laugh. Dorian also chuckles, relieved. 

The rest of the evening, Cullen continues his slide into inebriation, though at least he cheers up. He also gets very, very handsy. Rubbing Dorian's back, patting his knee, throwing his hand around the mage’s shoulders. Dorian is doing his best to pretend he’s not embarrassed, but he keeps glancing apologetically at Bull. 

When Cullen begins to nod off, leaning into Dorian's shoulder and nuzzling at him, Bull starts to snicker. Dorian glares at him, and the tip of his boot grinds into Bull’s shin.  _ Help _ , he mouths at Bull, cocking his head at the ex-Templar.

Bull snorts and stands. “Come on, Curly. Bed time for you.” He hauls Cullen to his feet. The place is almost empty by now, so Bull opts to drag him up the stairs in the Hanged Man. Better than up the main steps in the courtyard. 

When Dorian opens the door to Bull’s room, Cullen mumbles something incoherent and wrenches away from Bull. He scratches his head as he stumbles forward, tipping face-first onto Bull’s bed. 

“Oh fuck,” Bull grunts. Cullen's already snoring.

“Well, you weren’t going to drag him up the ladder, were you?” Dorian sighs. “He’s too far gone for that.”

“What ladder?” Bull asks. 

Dorian blanches. He wipes at his face. “The one that leads to his bed.” His voice is resigned, his shoulders slumped. 

Bull thinks he knows what’s happening, but he’s not sure. Because it sounds an awful lot like Dorian's admitting that something went down with him and the Commander. 

Automatically, Bull goes into emergency mode, cataloguing all the details he can observe, including his own emotions. The fact that his instinct kicked in at all was telling. No one was coming at him with a knife. 

After a moment he gives up on figuring out what all is in the crap churning in his gut. He needs more information.

Dorian's not looking at him. He’s facing the bed, but his gaze is firmly in the middle distance. He’s holding himself like he expects to be struck, at least emotionally. 

“Okay,” Bull says, keeping his voice low and neutral. “Maybe we should go outside for a minute. Get some fresh air.”

The breeze from the mountains is brisk. It feels good, bracing, reminding Bull there’s a universe larger than the one threatening to collapse in his chest. “You seem upset,” he says to Dorian, looking out at the horizon. It’s a purposeful move; he doesn’t want it to seem like he’s grilling Dorian. 

“It was months ago, before you and I... I was hoping you wouldn’t find out. Rather stupid of me, in retrospect,” he sniffs. 

Bull goes for a joke, trying to keep this light. “Keeping secrets from the Ben-Hassrath,” Bull mused. He leaned on one hip, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Hmmm. Hmmmm.”

Dorian swatted at his arm. “Well it didn’t work, obviously.”

_ Only because you told me. _ And that's when it comes together. Bull had seen it all along; he’d just ignored it. Hell, Bull was convinced that something had happened, that night at Wicked Grace. But as soon as there was a chance that he was wrong about what he was seeing, Bull had grabbed at it. 

If there was one thing Bull knew inside and out, it was the power that lies could have. And it wasn’t so much that Dorian had lied to him, because he hadn’t, exactly. It wasn't Bull's business, the things Dorian had done while they were apart. No, Bull’s gut was churning because he’d lied to himself. 

“I’m not going to apologize.” Dorian breaks the silence, frowning at the mountains. The statement is a challenge. 

“Don’t expect you to,” Bull says at once. “Shit, Dorian, I'd be one hell of a hypocrite if I expected you to apologize for sleeping with someone when we weren't even together. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

For a second, Dorian's face crumbles, but then he recovers. “Good. Yes. Right then.” He’s blinking rapidly, like he’s not quite sure what comes next. “Are you... are we....”

“Kadan,” Bull begins to say, his voice full of warmth, but his words get cut off when Dorian flings himself into his side, wrapping his arms around Bull’s waist. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Dorian's whispering the words into Bull’s ribs. “I shouldn’t have kept it from you. I’m so sorry, Bull.” 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Bull fights the urge to laugh at the way Dorian flip-flopped. “Why don’t we go to your place tonight, ok?” 

Dorian nods, mollified. He swipes at his eyes surreptitiously. 

Once they get into Dorian's room, the mage starts talking without any prompting. “I should’ve told you. I wanted to tell you. I was afraid you’d forbid me to see him and... I was just afraid.” He’s pacing, which is funny because he only has about six feet to do it in.

Bull sits on the bed and pats his lap. “You’ll make yourself dizzy.”

The mage slides into his lap face first, straddling him. It’s a surprising move, but Dorian seems to need the maximum amount of body contact. He twines around Bull. 

Damn, it feels good. The last of the crap flushes out of his system; there’s no room for it now, not with how good it feels to have Dorian so  _ here _ , so present. 

“You’re not upset?” Dorian asks quietly.

“I was thrown for a minute there. But I’m over it. I don’t want you to be scared, kadan. I would never,  _ ever _ ask you to stop being friends with someone just because you slept with them. Shit, I’ve made some great friends that way. You can always tell me the truth. As long as you want to be here, with me, I’m good.” 

Dorian relaxes into him. For a minute or so, they just breathe together. “It was after you... after.” Dorian murmurs into the crook of Bull’s neck. “I was drunk. He was drunk. He couldn’t make it up the ladder. So I brought him here.”

The words catch, especially the drunk part. A spark of protective instinct flares up. “How drunk we talking? Like, not knowing what you were doing drunk?”

Dorian shook his head. “I wasn’t that far gone, Bull. I knew.”

“What about Cullen?”

There’s a warm huff of air against his neck as Dorian laughs. “He knew exactly what he was doing. Rode me like a dwarf on a donkey.” His voice is velvety and ever so slightly dirty.

Two things happen at once. Dorian tenses in his arms as he realizes what he said, and there’s a jolt of interest that shoots straight to Bull’s cock. Neither reaction is particularly surprising.

Dorian jerks away from him. “I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“It’s alright.” Bull brushes Dorian's cheek. 

One of Dorian's eyebrows crooks. There’s a long beat, then Dorian narrows his eyes. “How alright?”

Bull gives a little shrug, letting a hint of a grin twist at the corners of his mouth. 

“Don’t tell me you like it,” Dorian sounds like he can’t believe it.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re sexy as hell, he’s handsome as fuck. What’s not to like?” Bull’s pretty sure he knows where this is going, but this kind of thing can be a minefield. It’s possible that Dorian isn’t into it. 

But then Dorian grinds into him, just a little. It jars a pleased grunt out of Bull. 

“There was a lot to like, in fact.” Dorian offers the words neutrally. 

“Yeah?” Bull smiles. “I’m having trouble picturing it. Maybe you should fill me in.” He slides a hand along Dorian's arm. 

Dorian grabs his wrist. “Wait. We’ve never done this.”

Bull blinks. “Yeah?” 

“It’s a little... what will you say, to stop me, if it's too much for you?”

Time stands still. Bull hasn’t needed a watchword of his own since his training with the tamassrans. He’d always, always been the one looking out for his partners, the one in control, the one giving. 

Dorian mistakes his stunned silence for displeasure. “It’s just - I know you said you liked it, but I’ve had people say that before, and then once I start talking it turns out they don’t, and then they get upset and it’s my fault, and -”

“Dorian. It’s okay. No one’s ever asked me that before, is all.”  _ Because none of them cared. _ Bull doesn’t say the second bit. Not yet. “Let’s stick with katoh.”

With a nod, Dorian lets go of Bull’s wrist. Bull finishes the gesture as he originally intended, bringing his hand up to rub Dorian's earlobe between thumb and forefinger. Dorian leans into it, eyes closed, making a noise not unlike a pleased cat.

“So. Dwarf on a donkey, eh?”

Dorian huffs an indulgent laugh, not opening his eyes. “Well it didn’t start that way,” he says.

“Yeah? How did it start?”

“Well, in our tipsy logic, we thought we could share the bed. Cullen was the little spoon. It’s not my fault the man can’t hold his damn hips still.” 

Bull could picture it, easy. Cullen squirming against Dorian, trying to get comfortable. Dorian probably complaining at first, until he starts to get hard, and then maybe going quiet, trying to keep it from Cullen. Cullen's eyes flying open when he realizes what’s pressing against his ass, hardly daring to breathe, before hesitantly arching backwards. 

“Then what happened?” Bull scrapes his fingernails down Dorian's exposed shoulder. 

“Mmmm,” Dorian moans, shivering. “He started moving, rubbing his ass on me.”

“Damn,” Bull breathes. His own hips start rolling against Dorian.

“You like that? Thinking about Cullen getting me hard? What if I told you he started moaning?” Dorian purrs.

“Fuck,” Bull grunts. He’s not sure what’s hotter, the scene Dorian's describing, or the way he’s describing it.

“I could only take so much. I had to ask him, ‘Do you want this, Cullen?’”

Bull clutches at Dorian's ass, mouthing along his shoulder. “What did he say?”

“‘Maker, yes, yes,’” Dorian gasps, bringing his hands up to grip Bull’s horns. “It wasn’t long until we were naked. He was grinding on top of me, desperate.”

“Fuck, Dorian,” Bull grunts, throwing his head back. 

Dorian kisses down the cords on his neck. “He was trembling like a colt. So I asked him, ‘Do you want me to fuck you, Cullen?’” Dorian rolls his hips, the motion providing much-needed friction on Bull’s cock, rock-hard under the thin fabric of his breeches.

Bull’s pretty sure he’s closer to coming in his pants than he’s been since he was a teenager. He’s panting.  _ Panting _ . All from the way his kadan is talking about fucking someone else. Shit, it’s good.

“What happened next?” Bull manages to get the words out.

“He said, yes please. Please, fuck me, it’s been so long.” Dorian actually alters his voice a little, not imitating Cullen's tone, but his inflection. “I slicked him up. So, so tight. He moaned so beautifully, burying his face in my neck. Couldn’t stop moving, poor thing. He needed it so badly.”

“Yeah? And you gave it to him, kadan?” Bull’s hips are starting to set a rhythm, and Dorian matches it.

“I did.” Dorian hums a throaty laugh.

“Having a little trouble picturing it, kadan. Maybe you should show me.” 

That throws Dorian. He stops moving, rears back to stare at Bull in confusion. “What?”

“If you want.” Bull qualifies the request, gives Dorian an out. 

“You... want me to fuck you.” It's not so much a question as it is Dorian trying the idea on for size. He raises his eyebrows. “I suppose I should know better than to ask whether you've done that before.”

Bull snorts and levels him with a condescending glance.

Dorian's smiling now, sliding off his lap. “Your wish is my command.”

Bull’s fingers shake as he undoes his belt. Truth is, he's only done this a couple times, and that was mostly with tamassrans, not actual lovers. And he fucking loved it, but most of the people he had sex with wanted what they saw on the tin: big Qunari, holding them down and taking. Bull liked giving people what they wanted. For him, taking was about giving. 

The deeper truth, the one he didn't like thinking about, was that no one ever really asked Bull what he wanted. Not without having something in mind, anyway. 

Dorian is settling himself between Bull’s legs. There’s an oiled finger tracing over Bull’s entrance, a light touch but not tentative. Almost a tickle. Dorian's watching his face.

Bull nods, and Dorian presses in. “Ohhhh,” Bull rumbles. “Yeah.”

Dorian doesn’t wait, adds another finger right away. Bull groans. Dorian's fingers are pretty small, comparatively speaking, but it’s been a while. And really, anything Dorian does is gonna make him feel good. “More, kadan.” 

“I thought I was the greedy one,” Dorian murmurs as he slides a third finger in.

Bull tries to laugh but it’s all breath. He’d forgotten what it was like, having somebody inside him. His mind goes blank, focusing totally on the feeling of Dorian's hand. 

A few minutes later, the velvet of Dorian's voice cuts in. “Good, amatus?” 

Bull nods. “More than good, kadan.”

Dorian quickly oils himself up, and guides himself in. It’s slow. So slow. So  _ good.  _

“Tell me when you’re ready for more,” Dorian whispers. 

“Oh, I’m ready,” Bull says. The hint of a laugh in his voice transforms to a gasp when Dorian slams into him without warning. “Oh,  _ fuck _ yes.”

Dorian grins like a demon and pounds into him. The sound of their skin smacking together just makes it all the better. And it’s not just the fact that Dorian's cock is in him. It’s the way the mage moves, completely in control of his body, every muscle working in concert. His expression is intent, focused. Bull’s caught up in that look.

“This how you fucked him?” Bull asks, too breathless to smile fully.

Dorian shakes his head. “Oh no. This is just for you.” His upper lip curls almost into a sneer, not from disdain, but from effort.

It’s fucking arousing as hell. Bull can't look away, and neither does Dorian.

“I hope you don’t think I’m going to wait for you,” Dorian says, his voice breaking.

Bull laughs, low in his chest, and brings a hand up to stroke himself. He’s already dangerously close. “Won’t have to wait long, you keep giving to me so good, kadan.”

“I want to feel you. Please.” Dorian's face isn’t so confident now, and he’s gulping for breath. 

“Kadan, you can have me as much as you want.  _ Fuck _ . Fuck, I’m going to  _ come _ .” It’s like he’s being carried away on a storm, or the tides maybe. It’s been so long that he’s the one being carried, rather than the other way around, that it seems to last forever. 

Dorian's fingernails are digging into his thighs. “Fasta vass, Bull. Let me... I need...”

Through the haze of his own fading orgasm, Bull realizes Dorian's asking for permission to finish. He doesn’t quite know why he's asking, exactly, but it doesn’t matter. “Give it to me, kadan. I want it.”

Dorian groans, thrusting hard a handful of times before his head hangs loose on his neck. When he lets go of Bull’s legs, there’s a line of half moons studded into the grey skin. He laughs weakly, kisses the marks before slithering forward to collapse on Bull’s chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“I'll live, I think,” Bull tries for a long-suffering stoic look, but he's too blissed out to pull it off. “Damn, Dorian. That was....” When he can't come up with a word right away, he starts laughing. 

“Rendered speechless. Just what I like to hear,” Dorian murmurs. His eyes are closed and he squirms, like he's gonna fall asleep.

It’s tempting to get up, clean off. But hell, the moment is so perfect, and Dorian feels so good splayed out on top of him, Bull figures it’s worth the risk of waking up with a stiff neck or sore back. 

So instead he strokes Dorian's hair, listens as the mage’s breathing slows, feels as his heartbeat aligns with the pulse thumping steady and warm: his kadan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, I know! I'll name each chapter from the Soul Canto! That way I won't have to come up with chapter titles!" 
> 
> Grumble. I hate me. Running out of titles. Might have to switch to the Body Canto.
> 
> P.S. Sorry, everyone who was rooting for Cullen and Krem. I've updated the tags accordingly.


	18. Only Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull deals with the aftermath of Dorian and Cullen's encounter.

There’s a beam of moonlight aimed at Bull’s face. If moonlight could be said to have ulterior motives, this particular beam seems intent on waking Bull up, and then keeping him that way. Dorian's still asleep on his chest. There’s no way Bull can shift himself to keep the silver glare out of his eye without waking the mage.

Though he can’t blame all of his sleeplessness on the moon. Something Dorian had said earlier is rattling around inside his skull, pinging as it ricochets off all of the other evidence piling up.  _ “... they don’t like it, and it’s my fault.” _

Bull knows that it hasn’t been all sweetness and light for Dorian. Between his father and all the Tevinter bullshit, he was bound to get a couple scrapes. But there’s too many old bruises, too much scar tissue, too many badly set bones. Dorian hasn’t just scrapped a couple times -- he’s been through war. 

Carefully, Bull starts picking through the all the things Dorian's told him, pulling out all the tiny pieces of information, sorting them, seeing how they stack up. Time was, Bull used to do this so he could take someone apart. Putting someone together again is a bit trickier. 

The moon is gone and the window is a pale purple when Dorian starts to wake up. Watching Dorian come awake is high on Bull’s list of good things in life. There’s a softness to his face, and every time he opens his eyes and sees where he is, he smiles. Just a tiny, tiny quirk of his lips, then a deep breath before he stretches.

Today he needs more stretching than usual; he’s almost as cramped from lying on the small bed as Bull. “Cullen owes us one for this. My back is killing me.”

“Oh, I dunno, I’d say he’s already paid us back,” Bull chuckles, kissing Dorian on the top of the head. “Last night was pretty spectacular.”

Dorian hums low in his throat. “I’m glad you approve.”

After they spend a few minutes dancing around each other in the small room, they’re both dressed. Now’s as good of a time as any, Bull figures. “Hey. Hey, Dorian, can we talk for a minute?”

Dorian stiffens as if Bull slapped him. “What?”

“Talk? You know, that thing you do with your mouth all the time?” Bull is quick to follow up with a joke.

True to form, Dorian tries to redirect. “I do a lot of things with my mouth, Bull.” His voice is velvety smooth, a practiced form of seduction. It slices like a knife into Bull, both knowing that Dorian has this weapon, and is scared enough to use it.

“Kadan. It’s important.” Bull scoots back on the bed, rests his back against the wall, making space for Dorian. 

Dorian doesn’t move. “Have I upset you?” 

“No. No. I just want to talk.” Bull lifts his arm and beckons. “Please.”

After another moment of hesitation, Dorian relents, slotting himself into the space at Bull’s side. Bull wraps his arm around the mage.

“It’s about what you said last night. About me forbidding you from being friends with Cullen. About it being your fault if I didn’t like hearing about it. And then the thing at the end.” Bull’s list is a lot longer than that, but it’s a start.

“Oh  _ that _ . Old habits, you know. Nothing to worry about.” Dorian tries to push himself up.

“Dorian, please.” 

Dorian slumps into his side. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“I know.” Bull runs a finger over the shorn spot just above Dorian's ear. “How about this. I talk for a while, you tell me if I’m right or wrong.”

“Is this a Ben-Hassrath thing?” Dorian complains.

Bull laughs. “Hey, might as well get something good out of it, right?”

“Fine,” Dorian sighs. “Ask away.”

Bull chooses his words carefully. “I know you had some messed-up shit to deal with. I know you got hurt. Hurt a lot more than normal. I think maybe there was someone who did some things to you.” Bull doesn’t change the rhythm of his hand as he strokes Dorian's hair.

The mage barks a short laugh. “Well you’ve got that right.”

“You were with him a while?” 

Dorian nods but doesn’t say anything else.

“That’s what I thought. See, this is where it gets murky. Maybe it started out good and went bad, because sometimes shit just blows up no matter what. But maybe you only thought it was good, maybe you trusted him, and he took advantage.”

There’s a long pause. Dorian's hands are freezing cold against Bull’s chest; he’s stressed out. “The second one,” he whispers finally.

Bull nods, pulls Dorian's hand up to his mouth, kisses each cold fingertip. “Okay. One more thing, and then I promise we can stop if you want. Sometimes people in that situation get forced into doing things they don’t want. But sometimes, the things they  _ do  _ want, the things they like, they get twisted around, because now it’s not just the thing you like, it’s the thing that you used to do together, and you can’t enjoy it without thinking about them.”

Dorian breathes out, the air shuddering from his lungs. “Both.”

“Oh, my kadan. Come here.” Bull pulls him up into a proper embrace. Dorian snakes into his arms, straddling him as he had last night. The mage is shaking like a leaf. 

Bull simply holds him for a long time, waits for the shaking to go away. “Dorian, we don’t ever have to do anything you don’t want. And if you want the things you like back, I can help you reclaim them, make new memories without that asshole. Either way, I’ll be here for you regardless.”

Dorian nods into the crook of his neck. It’s not clear whether he’s agreeing with all or part or just wants Bull to stop talking.

So Bull waits. There’s another long pause, then Dorian speaks again. “He... we... I knew his father. It was when I was on my own. I stayed at the estate. One thing led to another, and then.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want,” Bull reminds him.

“No, I... you should know. He was very charming. Just had a way about him. I was doting on him within just a few days.” Dorian exhales. “It wasn’t like he forced me. I wanted him. I wanted to impress him. I told him all the things I.... Well. You learn to keep a lot to yourself, in Tevinter. Just being able to explore -- venedhis, it was amazing. He told me he l-... I thought.... Well, it doesn’t matter.”

Bull can keep his face and body relaxed, which is a good thing. Because he doesn't flinch when Dorian almost says  _ he told me he loved me. _ Bull feels like he got punched in the solar plexus, but he can stay calm and collected, even as he has to shove the word that's been hovering on his own lips aside. He can't say it, not now. Not yet. So he says something else.

“He hold things against you, when you tried to end it?” Bull guesses. 

“Eventually, yes. Not before convincing me there was something wrong with me for wanting them. Oh, he was quick to indulge, but somehow I was the filthy one. His beautiful, filthy, slut.” Dorian squeezes his eyes shut, then forces them open again with a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have put up with it, of course. My fault for letting him -”

_ “No.  _ Not your fault. Nothing about what he did to you was your fault, kadan.” Bull interrupts. He swallows against the anger boiling up his throat. 

Dorian looks like he’s going to argue for a second, but then he just laughs bitterly. Bull can see Dorian doesn’t believe him. Gonna take a lot to get through that bit of scar tissue. Bull files that away for later. 

“Yes, well. Regardless, I... was trapped. He’d ‘allowed’ me to have sex with another man, while he watched. I thought it was one of his friends. Turned out to be one of his slaves. If I had tried to leave, he would accuse me of sodomizing his slave. No matter what you think of Tevinter, such things are illegal, even if they’re rarely enforced.” Dorian looks up at the ceiling, shaking his head. “A simple bit of blood magic would prove it true.”

Bull focuses on the details, trying to keep the rage in check. “How did you get away?”

The laughter is genuine and surprising, though it trails into bitterness. “You remember me saying my father abducted me? Well. He did, but at the time I thought he’d sent people to save me. The slave died trying to protect his master.”

Bull wipes at his face. He knew it was bad, but this is even worse than he thought. “He still alive, this guy?”

Dorian shrugs. “As far as I know.”

Bull tilts his head back, his horns scraping the wall. 

“What? What’s that look for?” Dorian frowns.

“Oh, just trying to decide - House of Repose? Or the Crows? Not like I can just barge in and take care of this asshole myself,” Bull muses.

Dorian rolls his eyes. “You want to assassinate my former lover. How delightful.” His voice is sarcastic, but the smile is genuine.

“Nah. I just gotta get him out of Tevinter. Bring him to a secluded spot on the borderlands. I think he probably needs a  _ nice  _ talking to.” Bull clenches his jaw.

Dorian blinks. “You’re serious.”

Bull looks at him. “Of course I’m serious. That asshole hurt my kadan. I told you: a thousand years, a thousand lifetimes. You think that only started when we met? You’ve  _ always  _ been my kadan.”

The look on Dorian's face is somewhere between disbelief and wonder. His mouth hangs open, and his eyes scan Bull’s face for some sign the Qunari is joking. When he doesn’t find it, he huffs. “I think the Crows might be a better choice. I hear Leliana has a contact.”

Bull smiles. “Good to know.” He pulls Dorian back to his chest. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Telling me.” Bull clarifies. “Know it wasn’t easy.”

“Not my favorite thing to talk about, no,” Dorian admitted. He trailed his fingers along one of the scars which lined Bull’s chest. “So, that's what it’s like, being interrogated by a Ben-Hassrath. Now I know.” 

Bull rumbled a laugh. “If I was really interrogating you, trust me, you wouldn’t know.” 

He could see Dorian's eyebrows knit together. “Did you?”

“Did I what?”

Dorian swivels his head up and around. “Interrogate me? When I first joined up, I mean.”

Bull shakes his head. “Nah.”

Pushing himself off of Bull, Dorian rounds on him, his face outraged. “Why the hell not?”

Bull’s laughing before Dorian's even finished the question. “Ah, there’s my little ‘Vint. What, you worried I didn’t think you were important enough?”

“Well... yes!” Dorian splutters. 

Ruffling Dorian's hair draws a squawk from the mage. “Too bad I trusted you.”

Dorian's scrambling to fix his coif. “Wait, what?” 

Bull smiles indulgently. “Dorian. You joined the Inquisition on the back of a damn turnip wagon.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Dorian groans. “What does that have to do with it?”

“You don’t seem the type to debase yourself just to get a little sympathy.” 

“Not usually my first choice, no,” Dorian allows. “Nothing involving turnips is ever my first choice.”

Bull doesn’t push it. For a man as arrogant as Dorian, he’s surprisingly shy about the sacrifices he’s made. “How about we round up sleeping beauty and get some breakfast?”

Dorian looks like he’s going to say something, ask a question. Something about Cullen, probably. But instead, Dorian bites back the words he’s gonna say, and nods, a lopsided grin on his face. 

When Bull opens the door to his quarters, Cullen's prone form groans, hands swimming vaguely through the bedding.

“Wakey wakey, princess,” Bull calls out, striding over to the bed.

Clutching his head, Cullen squints up at Bull, then over at Dorian. “What are you doing in my quarters?”

Bull just tilts his horns and waits. 

“These... aren’t my quarters,” Cullen concludes, looking around in confusion.

“Nnnnope,” Bull grins.

Cullen digs the sand from his eyes. He must have one hell of a hangover; his skin is almost as grey as Bull's. “Hang on - if I'm here, where did the two of you sleep? You can't tell me you both fit in  _ your  _ bed,” he says to Dorian. “I could barely walk after... I shouldn’t have said that, ” Cullen realizes aloud.

Dorian slaps his forehead, groaning. 

Bull laughs. “It’s alright.”

Cullen frowns, looking to Dorian for corroboration.

“Appalling lack of subtlety aside, it's fine, Cullen.” Dorian reassures him.

“ _ Lack of subtlety?  _ You said almost the same exact thing,” Bull points out.

Cullen doesn't look entirely convinced, but he sits up. “Can we decide whose foot went in what mouth after I obtain bacon? It's a medical necessity at this point.” 

“Ooh, didn't tell me there were feet involved, kadan. Not really my thing, but I can make exceptions.” Bull claps a hand on Dorian's shoulder, rubs circles with his thumb.

Cullen stumbles out of the bed. “Please don't tell me you told him  _ everything.”  _

Dorian huffed, shifting his weight from one hip to the other.  _ “Everything _ is such a loose concept. I’m sure I left some details out.” 

Cullen looks to Bull, sees the smirk playing around the Qunari’s lips.

“Maker’s breath.” Cullen sighs. “I am not nearly awake enough for this conversation.”

Bull grins, following the two friends out the door. 

In the dining hall Cullen does, in fact, load up his plate with rashers of bacon and slices of toast. “Chess later?” he asks Dorian around a mouthful of food.

“I can't, I'm afraid. I'm criminally behind on my research. Can’t keep the Inquisitor waiting.” Dorian apologizes.

“I'll play,” Bull offers. “If you need a partner.” He keeps his gaze trained on his food so he can ignore the glance that the other two men exchange. 

“Fine. Noon, in the garden,” Cullen tosses the invitation out carelessly, though he gives a hard look to Dorian.

***

Bull gets to the garden early. He doesn't spend a lot of time there in general. Which is a damn shame, he realizes; it's fucking beautiful. He needs the time to settle himself, anyway. Dorian dropped quite a lot of truth on him in the previous twenty four hours. It’s tangled up; the way he feels, the way Dorian feels, the whole Cullen thing, and all of it under a gloss of previous abuse.

Bull’s goal is to at least figure out where Cullen fits in. Not everyone can handle a one-time fuck without developing some feelings. If Bull’s gonna get through this without fucking everything up, he needs to know where Cullen stands.

Cullen is also early, arriving a quarter hour ahead. He doesn't seem surprised to find the Qunari waiting. “Should I bother setting up the pieces?” He isn't openly antagonistic, but it's close.

“Yeah, you better. It'll give you an excuse to keep that death glare up, when I beat you,” Bull smirks.

Cullen doesn't answer, just rolls his eyes and sets up the board.

For a few minutes they sink into the game. The Commander lobs the first remark. “I assume this is about Dorian.” 

“Partly. Mostly about you and me, though.” 

Cullen huffs an annoyed sigh. “I wasn't aware there was an ‘and’ to discuss.” 

“Yeah, see, that's the problem.” Bull leaves it deliberately vague, watching to see how Cullen interprets it. Could be an invitation to end the antagonism, or to friendship, or an overture to sex. 

Cullen stares at the board. Eventually he moves a piece. “I don’t dislike you, Bull.”

Bull fights the urge to heave a sigh of relief. It’s close enough to the answer he was looking for, the simplest way forward. Much as he wouldn’t mind a night with Dorian and Cullen together, it’s not worth it. Those two are too close for it to be simple, not to mention the Krem thing. Might as well sleep with a barrel of gaatlok.  “Of course you don’t. I’m a likeable guy,” Bull grins.

Cullen shakes his head in disbelief, rolling his eyes and doing his best not to grin. He opens his mouth a couple times like he's got a comeback, but eventually he just laughs. 

The conversation moves on to Inquisition stuff after that. They don't talk any more about Dorian, or about Krem. Bull continues to watch Cullen carefully. He's relaxed, or as relaxed as Cullen seems to get. Which is to say, not very. But there’s no sign of hidden tension, no weird pockets of jealousy that might’ve gotten jarred loose. Whatever happened that night between Cullen and Dorian, it doesn’t seem like the Commander wants anything more than to be friends with the mage.

Bull relaxes too, relieved. What with everything else, navigating that particular minefield would be a challenge. Maybe he relaxes too much, because suddenly Cullen's chasing his Queen around the tiles, a playful smirk on his face.

“Should we play by Qun rules next time? I could do with the challenge,” Cullen remarks.

“I'm not dead yet, Commander. Are you implying that I'm too easy?” 

He smirks, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m not  _ implying _ anything. You’ve seen for yourself how free Dorian is with intimate details.” With a shrug, Cullen leans forward and slides a bishop across the marble. “Check.”

Bull laughs. Maybe he'd misjudged the guy; the Cullen sitting across from him was cheeky. He likes it. Bull rescues his king and refocuses his attention on the game, breathing easy for the first time since he woke up.

  
  
  
  



	19. Transformed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the mission to track down Blackwall in Val Royeaux, Bull learns what he's known for a while, and teaches Dorian a new way of seeing things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated tags!

No matter how badly Bull wants to help Dorian, he doesn’t bring up their conversation again, even though he’s dying to know more. One of the side effects of being a Ben-Hassrath for so long, maybe, that he craves more information.

But Bull also knows that Dorian doesn’t trust this... whatever it is, not yet. And pressing Dorian to give more than he’s able will make the mage close down faster than the Herald’s Rest when Maryden starts in with her “poetry”. 

Anyway. Bull might not know exactly all the details of what that asshole did, but he knows his kadan. Patience is not a strong suit. 

About a week later they’re on their way to Val Royeaux, trying to track down Blackwall. The Inquisitor doesn’t really need a big escort, but Bull and Dorian are with her, and Sera and Varric as well. Between the four of them, there are enough jokes flying around that Evelyn’s managing to stay distracted. Cullen's also with them for some inscrutable reason. Bull saw the Commander have a hushed conversation with Leliana just before they left. Hushed conversations with Red never boded well.

But it’s a relatively merry trip, everyone outdoing each other with wild tales. A couple times Evelyn manages to laugh, really laugh, not just force out a chuckle. By the time they get to the Inquisition camp for the night, though, the tension is starting to get to her. Bull watches her surreptitiously. Her smile is forced, and she’s rubbing her forearm with the palm of her hand over and over.  _ Trying to self-soothe.  _

There’s a few minutes before dinner, and everyone’s off doing the things they do on the road. Evelyn is pretending to read requisition forms, leaning over the makeshift table in the camp. Bull can see her eyes aren’t moving though. 

He sidles up to her. “You good?”

Her answering laugh borders on hysteria. “No. Of course not. But I should be. I  _ should _ be, and I’m not, and -” She cuts herself off. Takes a deep breath and resets. 

“Hey. Boss. You’re doing better than you think. Yeah, we know you’re worried, but that's because we know  _ you. _ We’re your friends. I hope, anyway. You want more distractions, we can tell jokes till kingdom come. You want us to leave you alone, just say the word.” Bull elbows her.

She looks up and manages a smile, then goes back to shuffling through the reports. “Thanks, Bull. Just... pretend I don’t have terrible taste in men, okay? Pretend I’m not about to fall apart. Pretend....” This time she doesn’t cut herself off, but runs out of words.

“Boss.” 

Evelyn rouses herself. She can’t manage the smile anymore when she looks up.

“We got you. You wanna just head to your tent, I’ll let ‘em know you got a headache.” 

She nods. “That sounds good. Thanks.” 

“Just remember to rub your forehead. Makes it extra convincing.” Bull grins.

Evelyn dutifully swipes her brow and strides to her tent. Bull makes his way over to the fire, where Varric is doling out stew.

“What’s up with quizzie?” Sera frowns. 

“Headache,” Bull lies easily.

“Ohhhh, right.” Sera nods knowingly. 

“I almost hope something terrible  _ did _ happen to Blackwall,” Dorian muses, pushing the stew around with his spoon. “Because if he’s hale and hearty, he’s going to have a very cross mage to deal with. And that does tend to leave rather a mess.”

“Know the feeling,” Bull says. He doesn’t look over at Dorian, but sees the mage turn sharply towards him in his peripheral vision.

“He’s gonna have a lot of people to answer to, I think,” Varric says. “I mean, I like Blackwall. But just up and disappearing like this?” He shakes his head. “Even Fenris said he was sorry before he left.”

Cullen isn’t really contributing much to the conversation. Not surprising; the guy is pretty shy, and the rest of them had been adventuring together for months. Hard to break into conversations with so many in-jokes and shared memories. “But... he came around. Fenris. Didn’t he? He... changed his mind?” Cullen stares into his bowl of stew.

“Curly! Don’t tell me you’ve read my books!” Varric clutches his chest.

Cullen scowls at the dwarf, but before he can answer, Dorian lays a hand on his arm. “ _ I,  _ unfortunately,  _ have _ read Tale of the Champion.” He glares at Varric for a second before he goes on. “And yes. Fenris did change his mind.”

“Well  _ you _ lot are cheery,” Sera snorts. 

Later that evening, in their tent, Bull senses that Dorian is working up to saying something. He keeps opening his mouth, only to swallow back the words almost immediately. Bull pretends not to notice, instead settling into his bedroll. Dorian does the same, extinguishing the mage wisp and curling around Bull. 

Bull starts the mental countdown, guessing about thirty seconds. 

Dorian makes it twenty seven. “Bull. Before, when you... when you said....” He stops again.

“Can you narrow it down? I say a lot of things.” Bull keeps it light.

He gets a pinch in his ribs for his cheek. Dorian huffs, then huddles closer. “Those first few times we were together. The things we did.” Dorian takes a shaky breath. “Do you like doing that?”

Bull thinks he knows what Dorian's talking about, but this is too important for guessing. “You mean, taking control?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I like it.”

There’s a pause. “Can you... can you tell me why?” Dorian slides a hand tentatively across his chest. It’s not a touch that's meant to arouse, but to provide connection.

Bull considers his words carefully. “I enjoy giving people what they want, that's a big part of it.”

“But not all.”

“No,” Bull agrees. He sighs. “I like it because it’s a more intense connection than people normally allow me. When it’s good, knowing that the other person trusts me, that they’re giving me everything they have? Even if it only lasts as long as the sex, it’s something. For a long time, I thought it was all I could ever have.” 

“Oh,  _ Bull,”  _ Dorian's whisper catches in his throat. He climbs on top of Bull, splaying himself out.

The fact that Dorian's trying to comfort him is both intensely sweet and a bit ironic. “Why do you ask?”

There’s another long pause. “I’ve never been with someone who... hasn’t used that control to belittle.”

Bull tightens his arm around Dorian involuntarily, kissing the top of his head. “That one of those things you want to let go? Or something you want back?”

“I had rather given up on enjoying it, until those times with you. But then you didn’t ask for it again.” Dorian's voice is contemplative.

“Wasn’t sure you wanted it,” Bull explains. 

“Maybe I’d like to... explore,” Dorian offers, padding the thought with diffidence. 

“Yeah?” Not like Bull hadn’t thought about it. A lot.

“Would you?”

“Shit yeah,” Bull laughs. “Holding you down, feeling you squirm, hearing you beg, frantic for release? Knowing I’m taking you higher and higher, till you think you can’t stand it any longer, till you lose yourself completely? And then letting you go, watching your eyes when I finally give you relief?” Bull’s getting hard as he describes it. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

Dorian's hips are hitching against him, and he hums in interest. “I like the sound of that, amatus.”

“Yeah?” Bull drifts his hand down Dorian's back, squeezing his ass. “You looked awfully good, tied up for me. Maybe when we get to Val Royeaux, I’ll pick out some rope just for you. Tie you all up, like a present, so I can have you any way I like.”

Dorian hisses and starts rutting in earnest. “Oh, please, yes.”

“Fuck,” Bull grunts. They didn’t often indulge themselves during field missions beyond quick bouts of shared masturbation. If the camp get attacked in the middle of the night, wouldn’t be so great to be balls deep in someone. Cuts into reaction time. 

But on this mission, there was almost no danger. “What else do you want, kadan? Wanna give you everything. Everything you want.” Bull catches one of Dorian's hands and sucks the mages fingers into his mouth.

Dorian whined, continuing to slide against Bull. “You should buy a plug. Fill me, keep me full all day long, stretched and ready for you. Take me to a balcony in the city, just off the main square. Want - ah! - want you to fuck me, right where anyone might see.” Dorian pants as he speaks, rubbing his lips and face over as much of Bull’s chest as he can reach.

Bull’s rock hard now, and close, feeling Dorian's cock through the flimsy fabric. He takes up the thread of the fantasy, even as he grips Dorian's hips, guiding his movement. “Fuck, you want that, kadan? Have to go so slow, just sink into you, barely moving, just sliding a little. You think you can stand it, knowing that everyone who looks up is gonna see you, me standing behind you all innocent? Fuck, that's good. You’ll have to be so quiet, kadan. Can’t let on. Can’t let anyone know that you’re all full of my cock. All mine. Not even gonna let you come. Just take what I want. You like that?”

“Yes, oh yes. Yes, Bull. I’m yours, I’m yours. I want you to take me like that.” Dorian groans. 

“Mmm, you gotta earn it. Lemme have that mouth.” Bull grunts, pushing Dorian down his body.

Dorian frees his cock and laps at it greedily before wrapping his lips around the head and sucking. It’s a bad angle, but Dorian more than makes up for the lack of access with his hands. Not that he has to do much. Fuck, Bull’s so close even the sound of Dorian sucking cock is almost enough. Bull’s shooting within less than a minute, grimacing to keep himself from making too much noise. 

He pulls Dorian up, not giving himself time to recover. Not when Dorian's moans are so sweet. Bull cradles the mage’s balls, swallowing his length with a rapacious hunger. Dorian's kneeling, and Bull pushes and pulls against his hip, groaning in encouragement.

A moment later Dorian grasps his horns and begins to fuck Bull’s face. Not terribly hard or rough -- shallow, precise thrusts, almost gentle. Dorian teeters on the brink for a few moments longer, then spends in Bull’s mouth with a gurgling sigh. 

He collapses, seeming to melt into Bull’s arms, breathing hard. After a few minutes Bull realizes his heartbeat hasn’t slowed enough. Dorian's still holding on to some tension.

There’s a lot of different kinds of tension, and Bull’s had plenty of time to observe how Dorian carries each. There’s the kind when the mage is busting at the seams with something to say, as he was earlier in the evening; that comes with squirming and a lack of attention to his surroundings as he rolls the words around in his head. But now? Now Dorian's holding himself almost motionless, his attention keen on every move and breath Bull makes. 

It’s like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or to be smacked, physically or otherwise. Bull pushes his own anger at Dorian's past aside, letting his mind drift back to their conversations, trying to identify what it was about the sex tonight that could make Dorian so tense.

Not hard to figure it out. It’s in the words that Dorian had thrown out carelessly, an afterthought. That's when people revealed themselves. 

_ Beautiful slut. _

That's what Dorian had said his last lover had called him. One of the good things about Ben-Hassrath training is that, even as the anger burns a hole in Bull’s chest, he can shunt that aside, figure out what Dorian needs. So Bull takes a calm breath and speaks. “Does it bother you that I said all that?”

“What?” Dorian jolts in surprise, rearing up to try to see Bull’s face.

“All that stuff I just said. About tying you up, fucking you in public. Does it bother you I want that?” Bull keeps his voice calm.

Dorian laughs in disbelief. “Of course not,” he scoffs. 

“You sure? It’s pretty kinky. I mean, we ever do that, we’d have to talk about it first, set some boundaries. But it doesn’t bother you that I want it?”

“Bull, don’t be ridiculous. Of course it doesn’t bother me.” Dorian traces a forefinger across the scars on Bull’s chest.

“Then why’re you so fucking hard on yourself for wanting the same shit?”

The finger trailing across Bull’s chest freezes. A second later, Dorian smacks him. “You could’ve just said something, you great oaf.”

“Oh,  _ I’m _ the oaf, is that it?” Bull laughs. 

Dorian swears, eloquently and at great length, in Tevene. But there’s laughter in his voice, and the rigidity in his body loosens. It’s not everything, but it’s a start. 

Starts are good, but the follow-through is just as important. When they get to Val Royeaux, it’s kind of a shitshow for Evelyn. Blackwall turns out to be a wanted criminal. It’s not so much the fact that he killed for coin. Fuck, Bull does that all the time. But killing kids? It’s a line, and not one of those fuzzy, thin, grey lines either. Bull’s known from the second he met Blackwall that the man had a huge secret, and not a good one. Still, he’s trying to make good now, and that's not nothing. Whether it’s enough is up to Evelyn. 

But while she figures it out, they’re in Val Royeaux with not much to do. So Bull takes Dorian shopping. That in itself is satisfying. Bull loves watching Dorian drop his masks. And there’s nothing like the prospect of spending money to bring out the Altus in the ‘Vint. 

Nothing is good enough for him. Dorian sneers at the fine soaps in the apothecary, finally selecting one with a delicate pine-and-sandalwood scent, handing over his coins with a regretful sigh, as if he has no choice. In the clothier, he rubs fabric between thumb and forefinger, frowning in disapproval, before begrudgingly ordering a few tunics. 

Bull literally cannot get enough of seeing him like this. Even way back at the beginning, when Dorian bought that wine from Cabot and made such a deal out of letting it breathe. It’s like a window into what Dorian's life would’ve been like if his fucking father hadn’t been such a fucking asshole. He’s self-assured, confident, comfortable. And, okay, yeah, he’s a huge snob, but it’s authentic. He’s a snob because he knows he deserves the best. 

It’s when Dorian is pondering between two brands of luxury moustache wax that Bull realizes that, yeah, he’s fucking in love with this ‘Vint. He’d thought maybe he was before, but now it’s just a fact. Because even with all the sex they’ve had, and all the intense conversations, this is what Bull wishes he could bottle up forever: this moment in a shop in Val Royeaux, watching Dorian hem and haw between two little jars of nearly-identical wax. 

Bull memorizes Dorian's face, right now, the slight arch of his brow as he ponders the labels, the faint disapproving sniff he gives each sample, the stiff line of his neck and jaw which screams his arrogance louder than any words, the sigh of resignation as he selects one jar as if he’s making the biggest sacrifice of his life to have to lower himself to myrrh-and-embrium. 

The shopkeeper’s wrapping up Dorian’s purchase when the mage finally looks over at Bull. “What?” It’s an accusation.

“You.” Bull smiles indulgently.

“What about me?” Dorian snips, taking the parcel from the shopkeeper.

“Just... I dunno.” Bull shrugs. It’s a lie: Bull knows. He knows exactly why he’s smiling. He puts an arm around Dorian's shoulder as they leave the store. 

Dorian immediately stiffens, his eyes darting around the street. 

“Pretty sure there’s nothing the ‘Vint and Ox-man can do to be more obvious, kadan.” Bull laughed. “Unless you wanna get a start on what we were talking about the other night.”

Dorian groans in disapproval, rolling his eyes. But he doesn’t try to get out from under Bull’s arm, either. 

“Hey, mind if I make a stop somewhere?” Bull says it casually.

“What, you need to drop by the circus, see if they have any spare tents you can turn into trousers?” 

Bull snorts with laughter. “Not quite.” He leads Dorian down a series of increasingly desolate side streets, taking a sharp turn down a nondescript alley.

“Bull, are you lost?” Dorian asks, looking around in confusion.

“Nope.” Bull knocks on an unmarked door. 

There’s a long pause. Dorian's starting to shift from foot to foot in impatience by the time the door opens.

A tiny, ancient Orlesian man opens the door, his dour look melting to delight when he sees Bull. “Iron Bull! Oh, monsieur, such a pleasure to see you!” 

“Armande,” Bull smiles, bending down so that the man can kiss each of Bull’s cheeks. “Life treating you well?”

“Could be worse. This damn civil war has been bad for business. This truce... we shall see. Oh, but my manners! You have brought... a special friend? And a Tevinter!” Armande peers up at Dorian in interest.

“Bonjour, monsieur,” Dorian gives a small bow as he greets the man.

Armande dips his head in acknowledgement and looks back up at Bull. “You have never brought a friend, Iron Bull,” Armande says with a sly wink. 

“Armande, this is Dorian Pavus, Scion of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous.” 

“A pleasure,” Armande says. “But please, come inside. Jeanette will be most pleased to see you. Most pleased.”

Dorian raises an eyebrow in curiosity as they follow the diminutive man down a narrow hallway. Bull gives him a pleased little grin, ducking to fit his bulk in the hallway.

Armande is yelling to the mysterious Jeanette; indeed, most of the block probably knows Bull has arrived. There’s a curtained alcove at the end of the hallway, and as Armande hollers, the fabric twitches aside.

Jeanette stands there, her arms outstretched. “Iron Bull, mon ami, how I have missed you!” As always, Jeanette looks fucking spectacular. She’s tall and voluptuous and dressed in finely-tailored menswear, the masculine lines of the clothing serving to highlight her feminine attributes.

The woman hugs Bull and kisses him. “I heard you were in Val Royeaux. I am most pleased you came to see me. And who is this?”

Dorian is introduced yet again. This time, he’s relaxing into the mystery, kissing Jeanette’s hand in the Tevinter style. 

“Very exotic,” Jeanette winks at Bull. To Dorian, she says, “You must be very special, for Bull to bring you here.”

“To be quite honest, madame, I don’t actually know where we are.” 

Jeanette gasps dramatically, pressing her hand to her chest. “You are a wicked man, Iron Bull, to bring him here with no warning.”

Bull shrugs, a grin playing around his mouth.

“Armande, champagne for our new guest.” Jeanette issues the order with a wave of her hand, then beckons Bull and Dorian behind the curtain.

Inside is a very large room lit with dozens of lamps. The walls are covered in dark red velvet, and a half-dozen cases display the merchandise. There’s also a four-poster bed in one corner, and a variety of chains clamped to one of the walls. 

Dorian's eyebrow cocks as he looks around. When he sees the line of anal plugs lovingly nestled in velvet boxes, his head lolls on his neck slowly, turning to fix Bull with an accusing look. “Really, Bull?”

“Only the finest for you, kadan.” Bull winks. 

Jeanette bustles over with a pair of champagne flutes. “Any friend of Bull is a most honored guest, Monsieur Pavus.” 

Dorian accepts the drink with a polite nod. “I take it the Iron Bull is a preferred customer,” Dorian drawls. 

“We owe everything to Iron Bull,” Jeanette glows. “He saved us. We would be nothing without him.”

Bull could feel Dorian looking at him, but he keeps his attention on the case full of floggers. “It was nothing, Jeanette.” 

“Psh. Nothing, he says.” The woman takes Dorian's arm. “The Bull and his Chargers took care of an unscrupulous villain who threatened not only my livelihood, but the identity of my customers.”

“Is that so?” Dorian remarks, his voice bland, but the look he shoots Bull is electric.

“And he refused any payment,” Jeanette continues singing Bull’s praises.

“I’d say the discount you give me is payment enough.” Bull points at a plug in the case. “Is this dawnstone?”

“It is. Just in from Orzammar.” She glides over to Bull, patting his arm. “I shall leave you and your friend a few minutes to browse. You know how to find me.” And with that she makes a discreet withdrawal.

Bull plucks the plug from its velvet nest, weighing it in his hand. Nice size, good heft. Dorian, meanwhile, seems entranced by the variety of gags available. He traces his finger over the leather-wrapped ball of the most expensive model, the one made with snoufleur skin. 

“Like what you see?” Bull asks casually. 

“I’ve heard of places like this but never had the courage to visit one in Tevinter.” Dorian's voice is calm, but Bull can tell it’s a front. He’s trying to hide how interested he is, play it off like it’s no big deal. 

Bull knows it was kind of a dick move for him to surprise Dorian like this, so he doesn’t call the bluff. “Jeanette’s great. Knows her stuff up and down, back and forth. Used to run a brothel in Montsimmard. Decided to open this place. She designs everything here, has it made to her standards. You can’t just walk in off the street, either. She doesn’t want anyone using this stuff for the wrong reasons, so it’s invitation only.”

“And you’re her knight in shining circus trousers.” Dorian smiles at him, more than a glimmer of affection in the glance. 

“Pretty much.” Bull picks up the gag. The strap is supple, the seams smooth, the buckle made of brushed silverite. “Wanna try it on?”

Dorian's eyes dart all around. “Here? Now?” he hisses.

“All part of the service. The only way to get Jeanette back is to ring that bell over there.” Bull nods at the small silver bell by the door. “How you gonna know you got the right thing if you don’t try it first? But we don’t have to, if you don’t want. I’m good with anything, kadan.”

Dorian's blinking fast, and his breath is a bit shallow. He nods, the motion jerky.

“Open up,” Bull whispers, holding the gag up. He settles the ball in Dorian's mouth, then gently buckles the strap at the back of Dorian's head. 

Fuck. Dorian's eyes are already dark and wide, his chest rising and falling as he breathes through his nose. 

Bull catches Dorian's jaw in his palms, running his thumbs just under the strap. “Kadan. You look so fucking gorgeous. Damn. You like it?”

There’s a brief pause, and Dorian nods.

Bull plants a reverent kiss on Dorian's forehead. “You wanna see how beautiful you look?”

Dorian's eyes are a bit wild, but he nods, just barely. Bull leads him to the full-length mirror. He stands behind Dorian, murmuring into his ear. “Look at you. Dorian, my kadan. Gorgeous. Not sure what I ever did to deserve this, you know that, right?”

Dorian makes an indeterminate noise around the gag. His eyes are locked on his reflection. Bull pulls the mage’s arms behind his back. Dorian's breath catches at the restriction. 

“Mmmm, you stay right there, okay? Wanna grab some rope.”

Dorian shudders but doesn’t move from the spot. Bull picks a few coils from the display case and makes his way back over. “Maybe get that tunic off, see how this looks against your skin. That okay?”

Dorian nods, no longer stiff and jerky, but eager. Bull pops the knots holding the tunic closed and peels it away from Dorian's chest and arms. One after another, Bull lays the coils of silk against Dorian's chest: scarlet, ivory, black, forest green, and deep navy blue. 

The last one is clearly the correct choice. It complements both the man’s burnished brown skin and silver gray eyes. Dorian's eyebrows raise, and he looks up, catching Bull’s eye in the mirror. 

“You wanna see how it feels?”

Dorian moans and nods. Bull slowly, carefully, begins to wrap the rope around Dorian's arms and chest. He takes his time, forming the knots with precision. When he’s done, Dorian's wrists are tied together, his arms bent as if in prayer. The rope is looped around his upper arms and neck. 

“You okay, kadan?”

Dorian's breathing fast, and he nods, making an affirmative sound around the gag. His jaw has got to be aching by now, Bull knows. 

“You wanna see?” 

Again, Dorian nods, letting Bull turn him around. 

When he catches sight of his reflection, Dorian whimpers, his knees buckling slightly. Bull catches him, supports his weight. “Beautiful. Do you know what a gift it is, to see you like this?”

Dorian makes a little sound and starts to shake, just a little quiver. 

“You want me to untie you?”

Dorian shakes his head immediately.

Bull kisses the top of his head. “I know that asshole made you think you weren’t good enough. Took all those lies you’d been hearing and made them into a leash. But that's not how it works. Not for me. I’m the one that has to prove I’m worthy of you. Worthy of this gift you’re offering me. Could spend a lifetime proving it to you and it might not be enough. You see it now?” 

Dorian's blinking rapidly, the beginning of tears starting to form in his eyes. Finally he just squeezes them shut. 

“Gonna take this off, okay? You all right with that?” Bull asks gently.

Eyes still closed, Dorian nods. The gag comes off first, and then the rope is untied in a few moments. Bull puts himself between the mage and the mirror, then lifts Dorian's chin. “You okay?”

“I... no. Not really,” Dorian says, licking his lips. “You have a habit of shattering all my defenses.”

“Like seeing you naked, I guess,” Bull admits. He wraps Dorian into an embrace, and just holds him, their bodies fitting together with a perfection that makes something in Bull’s chest ache.

After several long minutes, Dorian takes a deep breath and speaks. “And now I suppose you’re going to make me walk all the way back to our rooms, in this state.” The sarcastic edge is creeping back into his voice as he gestures vaguely towards his half-hard erection.

“I can carry you,” Bull offers, leering at him.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Dorian protests, pulling his tunic back on. “Just for that, you’re buying the wine tonight.”

Bull rings the bell to summon Jeanette. “I think I can handle that.”


	20. Monuments for their Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull tries to get Dorian a gift. It goes badly.

One of the benefits of having pulled Orlais out of civil war at Halamshiral was that the Inquisitor and her companions never lacked for opulent accommodations in Val Royeaux. They’d been granted use of the apartment and staff of some Duchess or other while the noble was in her estate in Verchiel. Bull and Dorian came home from shopping to find Evelyn in the parlor. 

She’s sitting by an open window, and though she’s looking into the courtyard, Bull can tell she’s not really seeing it. She turned to them, mustering a polite smile. “Good shopping trip?”

“Not a drop of mustache wax left in the city,” Bull nods, ignoring Dorian's backhanded slap to his bicep.

Evelyn laughs, and it’s good to hear. “Join me for a drink? Now that I’m not alone I have an excuse to break into the wine.”

Dorian passes their purchases off to Bull and glides smoothly to the drinks cart. “I think that's a capital idea. Shopping does tend to give me a colossal thirst,” he says, handing her a glass of dark red wine. He pours one for himself and settles in one of the chairs by the window.

“Hey, where’s my drink?” Bull says in mock hurt.

“Oh, you’re welcome to join us once you’re done putting our things away.” Dorian bats his eyelashes.

WIth a snort, Bull heads upstairs to put their purchases in the room. He’d never admit it to Dorian, but he actually loves it when the mage orders him around. It had taken Dorian months just to ask Bull to hand him his boots in the morning; the fact that he feels comfortable enough to wheedle these little favors from Bull is... well, it’s special. 

After Bull puts their stuff away, he takes a leak and empties the chamber pot. And he removes his knee brace and shoes for good measure. The floors are covered in fine rugs, and it’s a rare treat to be able to walk barefoot. By the time he gets back downstairs, Dorian and Evelyn are deep in conversation. 

Something about the tone of Dorian's voice halts Bull in the shadows of the hallway. It’s low and thoughtful, sympathetic and sincere. It’s rare to hear the mage take that tone, and Bull knows if he barges in there now, it’ll shatter whatever moment they’re having. 

After a second, Bull can pick out the individual words. Evelyn’s worried about Blackwall -- no surprise there. Bull doesn’t envy her, having to decide whether to spring him from prison or let him rot behind bars. The past year has shaped her into a hell of a leader, not afraid to make tough choices, but this is different. “What will the others think of me, if I spare him? Will they think me weak?” Her voice is weighed down with worry.

Dorian chuckles. “One more ruthless than I would perhaps suggest you spare him simply to show that you can.”

Evelyn frowns. “Maker, I hadn’t thought of that. Will he still... care... with such a power imbalance?”

Dorian leans forward and covers her hand with his own. “My dear. If he really thinks you would wield such a power over him, he obviously doesn’t know you very well. You may be powerful, but never cruel. Trust me. I am intimately familiar with the cruelty which hides itself behind a kind and loving face. The mask never fits quite right.”

Bull’s gut clenches to hear how straightforward Dorian's admission is. 

“You don’t mean Bull, do you?” Evelyn scrunches her face in distaste. 

“Oh sweet Maker, no,” Dorian laughs easily, letting go of her hand. “Speaking of which,” he says, his voice growing sharper to change the subject, “Where the devil is he?”

Bull beats a hasty retreat back up the hallway as Dorian sets down his glass and rises from his chair. He ducks into a side doorway, leading to the kitchens. As Dorian approaches he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Are you eating? Again?” Dorian accuses.

“No,” Bull says, knowing the truth will be taken for a lie.

“You are insatiable,” Dorian smirks, rising on his tiptoes.

Bull gives him the kiss he’s looking for. And then some. “Maybe I am, kadan.”

Dorian smiles into his lips. “Well, I don’t suppose you could convince the staff to conjure up some snacks? Probably not good for Evelyn to have wine on an empty stomach  _ and  _ a broken heart.”

It’s a fair point. “Why me?” Bull protests.

“You’re so much better at it than I am.”

“That’s because I ask nicely.” Bull points out, but he’s smiling as he says it. 

“Are you saying I’m not  _ nice?” _ Dorian holds a hand over his heart as he tut-tuts. “Cheese and fruit, please. Perhaps some crispbread. To go with the wine. There’s a dear.” He pats Bull’s chest affectionately and returns to the parlor.

After a few minutes of sweet-talking the servants, Bull’s carrying a tray of goodies back up. Offering to carry is a big part of why the staff likes him so much. Going up and down the stairs a thousand times a day gets old. 

Sera’s voice is in the mix, now. “You want me to fix ‘im up for you? Couple of arrows right up High Street’d do the trick.”

“Augh, no,” Dorian cringes. “Please, I insist you all stay out of it.”

“Stay out of what?” Bull asks, setting down the tray.

“Ooh, apples!” Sera says, pouncing on a slice and shoving it into her mouth. “Some arsehole’s got Dorian's fancy jewels, won’t sell ‘em back,” she says around a mouthful of fruit.

Dorian rolls his eyes and sighs. “Well it  _ was _ meant to be a secret,” he mutters.

“You gonna fill us in here, or should I get my interrogation boots on?” Bull folds his arms.

“What, you have boots for it?” Sera crinkles her nose.

“Nah,” Bull shrugs. “Sounds intimidating, though, right?”

“Ugh, if you two magpies would cease chattering for a moment.” Dorian drew a hand across his brow. “Ponchard de Lieux. Miserable influence monger. I left Tevinter with very little. I ran out of money quite quickly, so, I sold Ponchard my Pavus family amulet. My birthright, if you will. And now the weasel refuses to sell it back unless I bring the Inquisitor to meet him.” Dorian flings himself into a chair. “Ridiculous. I’ll do no such thing.”

Bull’s eyebrows shoot up. He’d always wondered how Dorian ended up on that turnip wagon. Bull had also tried very hard to avoid thinking about some of the things he’d said to Dorian that day. An idea starts to coalesce in his mind.

“Dorian, why didn’t you say something? I’ll meet with him, it’s no bother,” Evelyn says, helping herself to some cheese.

“Because I’ll not use our friendship to further that disgusting lout’s ends. I should’ve known he was up to no good.” Dorian shakes his head decisively. “No. I’ll not play his game.”

“Are you sure? How about we stage a row in a cafe? I’ll publicly remonstrate you, cut your ties to the Inquisition. Then he’ll have no reason to hold it over you. Ooh, I could throw a glass of wine in your face! I’ve always wanted to do that!” Evelyn claps her hands together, her eyes wide and shining.

Dorian's frown dissipates. “My dear, if I thought you could follow through without laughing, I’d take you up on it. I’ve seen you play Wicked Grace. I don’t recommend it.”

Before Bull can press the issue, Cullen walks in. The relief on Dorian's face when the conversation shifts is obvious. Bull already knows what he’s gonna do. He just has to be patient.

Few hours later, after dinner, Bull gets his chance. Sera announces she has to go take care of some “things” for some “people”. 

Bull follows Sera outside. “Hey, hold up.”

“Yeah? This about me standing on your horns?”

“It’s about your friends. Wanna hire you,” Bull says, keeping his voice low.

“Doesn’t exactly work like that,” Sera laughs, but her gaze is piercing. “This for Sparkly-butt’s necklace, then? Don’t normally steal from the top to give back to the top.” 

“Yeah, I know. But you’re not giving back to the top. You’re giving it to me.” 

Sera snickers. “ _ ‘Giving it to you.’ _ Ha! Not likely.” Once she gets the dirty joke out of her system, she fixes Bull with a quizzical look. “Why you want it so bad, then? Pretty sure he’s not gonna stop showing you his danglies if you don’t get it.”

Bull sighs heavily, scratching at the base of his horns. “Look. No one knows what Dorian had to give up to get to the Inquisition. But I’m guessing it was a hell of a lot more than a necklace.” Bull can still see the look on Dorian's face, his first day in Haven. Bull had tried to flirt, put Dorian at ease. The way the mage had flinched... that memory had burned quite a hole in Bull’s mind. 

“What, really?” Sera’s frown took on a hard edge of disapproval. 

Bull shrugs. He doesn’t like thinking about it. “I can’t get him back everything he gave up, but if I can get him this, I’m damn well gonna do it.” 

Sera nods thoughtfully. What passes for thoughtful for Sera, anyway. “You’ve gone all soft on ‘im. Like it.”

Bull snorts. “Wouldn’t say I’ve gone  _ soft,  _ Sera.”

Sera giggles, low and fast. “Alright. One poncy necklace, coming up.”

“What about payment?”

“Favor for a favor. How big a favor depends on how hard it is to get. So you’ll just have to find out once it’s done, yeah?” Sera tilts her head, an unspoken challenge in her posture.

“That works,” Bull nods. He wasn’t expecting her to charge him in gold, anyway.

Varric pokes his head out the door. “Tiny, we’re dealing a hand of Wicked Grace. You in?”

Bull nods and heads in as Sera scampers away with a giggle.

“What was that about?” Varric raises an eyebrow. “Last time I heard that laugh she replaced all my quills with goose down.”

“Far as I know, you’re safe.” Bull says.

Sera makes good on her end of the bargain with surprising speed. It’s just after lunch the next day when the elf tosses a small canvas purse in his lap. Bull weighs it in his hand.

“Easy,” Sera notes, giving a nod to the amulet. “And fun. Staged a break-in to cover.”

“Just let me know when I can pay up,” Bull says. 

“No fear.” Sera gives him a grin that's too evil by half.

Bull heads to the rooms he’s sharing with Dorian. He’s grinning, already warm with anticipation at giving Dorian a gift. It feels good. He could get used to this. 

The mage is in the sitting area, reading a book by the balcony. He doesn’t look up at Bull, his eyes scanning the page. “Hello Amatus,” he says. “Come to sleep off your enormous lunch? I’ve never seen someone eat an entire baguette by himself before.”

“That the long skinny bread? Didn’t want it to go stale,” Bull explains. 

“Oh yes, such a crime, having to make croutons,” Dorian smirks. He sets the book down and looks up. 

Bull brandishes the purse, then tosses it to Dorian.

“A gift? For me?” Dorian smiles as he catches the pouch. “How delightful. I must say I never -” He stops cold when he pulls out the necklace, his face collapsing into a frown. “What is the meaning of this?” he hisses. “I  _ told  _ you to stay out of it.”

Time stutters to a halt as Bull realizes he fucked up. And not just a little. Dorian's as angry as Bull’s ever seen him. 

A wave of shit feelings slams into Bull: disappointment, anger, hurt, fear. 

Automatically, Bull reaches for the impassive side of himself, the part that observes and cataloges and puts the pieces together. He tries to push everything aside, center himself, find the mistake and fix it. He tries.

And he fails.

He  _ can’t. _ He can’t reach that part of himself. There’s too much inside him, like a boat that's sprung too many leaks. All that shit he usually pushes aside, he can’t escape it. He doesn’t even know why, just that he can barely breathe. 

“Kadan, I’m sorry, I -” Bull can’t find the words. “I’m sorry.”

Dorian slams the necklace down on the table and leaps out of the chair. “Sorry? I specifically told you not to intervene and you did it anyway. Do my wishes mean nothing to you? Are they to be ignored when it suits your purposes? This is everything I didn’t want.” He jabs his finger into Bull’s chest.

Bull steps back. It’s wrong, all of it, and it’s his fault. He looks at Dorian, tries to see what the mage needs. All he can see is anger. Anger that  _ he  _ caused. 

And then he can’t see anything, because Dorian storms past him, slamming the door on his way out. 

Bull stands, not moving, for... well, he’s not sure. Minutes, at least. There’s still a swirling flood of crap eddying through his veins, but he can’t just stand there. He has no idea what to do, but he has to do something. 

So he lets himself out a side door and heads to the docks. The walk helps -- the rhythm of his feet, the sounds of the city around him, the smells of perfume and cooking meat, all dragging his attention back to his body.

He finds a spot by the end of the quay and sits. The water laps at the posts, slapping a nearby net into a boat. Bull forces himself to take a couple of deep breaths. 

Fuck. He let Dorian down. Not just let him down -- he  _ hurt  _ Dorian. Again. The thing he promised himself he’d never do. And Bull hadn’t even seen it coming.

If his Tama could see him now. Shit, she’d probably deck him. He’d broken both of her rules: helping when it wasn’t needed, and cherry-picking to find the truth that suited his purposes. No wonder Dorian was angry. 

Now that Bull’s had a few minutes to calm down, it’s blindingly obvious where he had messed up. He didn’t get the necklace because Dorian wanted it. He got it to make up for that thing he’d said, back in Haven. Bull got it to make himself feel better for that first instant of pain he’d inflicted on Dorian. 

Well fuck if that wasn’t just perfect. 

The bigger question, the one he  _ really  _ doesn’t want to think about, is why he’d lost control back at the house. But he doesn’t need to think about it: he knows the answer already. Because of course he couldn’t find that impassive side. To be impartial means keeping separate, not allowing the situation to seep in, walling off a part of himself. But when it comes to Dorian, that's just not an option. Not anymore. 

Every little bit of Bull is soaked in how he feels for Dorian. Every particle of Bull is suffused with this, this - shit, just call it what it is. This love. He knew it already, but knowing something  _ exists  _ isn’t the same as knowing what it  _ means. _

And what it apparently means is that Bull’s different, now. It’s like adding carbon to iron - you get steel. It’s never gonna be iron again. It’s changed; it’s something new. _ He’s _ something new. And Bull doesn’t know himself anymore. And if he doesn’t know himself, how can he be sure he won’t do this again?

He’s there a long time, watching the water. Exhaustion sets in; Bull feels like he’s been marching hard for days, his mind circling around and around, slower and slower, until it finally just stops. 

“You know sitting like that's murder on your knee.” 

Bull looks over his shoulder. Dorian's leaning on the side of the dock office, looking at his fingernails. 

Bull turns back to look at the water. “Yeah, well. Serves me right, I guess.”

A seagull makes a spectacularly splashy landing in the water, and a moment later glides along, placid as a swan.

“How did you find me?” Bull asks.

“My good man, you’re many things, but inconspicuous is not one of them.” Dorian pushes himself off the wall with his hip and saunters over. He hunkers down and sits on the edge of the dock.

“You’ll get your robes dirty,” Bull points out.

“Can’t be any worse than the Fallow Mire,” Dorian says, squinting out over the harbor.

“You sure? I’m pretty positive you just sat in bird crap.” 

Dorian cringes, then takes a wearied breath. “Yes, well. Should you decide to obtain replacement robes for me, I’ll do my best not to throw them back in your face like a spoiled child. You were trying to get me a gift, and I overreacted.” 

Bull shakes his head. “No. Don’t apologize for that. You have every right to be angry. I didn’t listen to you. I was trying to make up for something that happened a long time ago. Thought I could - I dunno. Cancel it out. Doesn’t work like that. I  _ know  _ it doesn’t work like that, but I tried it anyway, like a vashedan asshole.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Dorian asks. 

Bull rubs at his eye. “Back in Haven. First day I met you. I was trying to flirt, and I said something real stupid.”

“Said what? Bull, I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“I said -” Bull grits his teeth. “I said, ‘I imagine a man as pretty as you doesn’t have much trouble finding a bed for the night.’ Soon as I saw your face, knew it was the wrong thing to say.”

“Oh. That,” Dorian says. He doesn’t flinch, but it’s clear that now he remembers. 

“Yeah. That.”

There’s a long pause. Dorian doesn’t look at him. “You didn’t know me. I understand. It’s not as if I gave you the benefit of the doubt, either. I seem to remember calling you almost every name in the book.” Dorian says. “And I never apologized for that, now that I think of it.” He laughs, the brittle sound bouncing off the water like a flat stone. “We’re really covering ourselves in glory, aren’t we?”

Bull wants to laugh; he knows that's what Dorian is hoping for. But he can’t fake it. “Dorian. Kadan. I can’t guarantee this won’t happen again.”

“Well seeing as how I only had the one amulet, and I don’t plan on selling it again, that shouldn’t be an issue.” His voice is light, as if in absolution.

“That’s not what I mean.” Bull hears the growl edging into his tone. “I can’t separate myself. I’ve got no distance. I don’t know where your need ends and my want begins. Got myself into trouble with that before.”

Dorian looks at him, his face troubled. “If you’re looking for advice in how to avoid that, I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong person. I gave up trying quite a while ago.”

It shouldn’t help, to hear that. But it does, somehow. “Yeah?” Bull asks.

“I’m afraid so.” Hesitantly, Dorian reaches out and puts his hand on Bull’s knee. 

Bull covers Dorian's hand with his own. The moment stretches out, not with that fraught tension from before, but rather both of them making space in themselves for this new reality. Which is all well and good, but there’s a time and a place, Bull knows. “Pretty sure neither of us need to be having this discussion while you’re sitting in seagull shit,” he points out.

Dorian gives a long-suffering sigh. “I was rather hoping you were kidding about that part. Well, I expect my robes need to be laundered regardless.”

Bull pushes himself up, then reaches a hand down to help Dorian rise. “Give you an excuse to hang out in our room with no pants on, though.”

“You’re full of ideas, aren’t you?”

Bull grins. “Some of ‘em are even good ones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know where this chapter came from - it wasn't planned. Whoops. :) Also, it's my birthday today!   
> So be nice to the old lady, please. ;)


	21. See to the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adamant, and what comes after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: The final scene in this chapter contains a scene of completely consensual and negotiated temporary total power exchange and some minor bloodplay (biting). If that is not your bag, you may only want to read up to the second break. Tags have been updated accordingly.

An army of demons. 

An army. 

Of demons. 

An army of  _ fucking _ demons.

Bull takes a deep breath through his nose. Repeating the thought wouldn’t make it any different. The boss said they were fighting an army of demons, so that's what Bull is ready to do. 

It’s the night before they leave for Adamant, and sleep is not on the menu. And not just because Bull needs Dorian, needs all of him, slow and sweet, until they’re both lost in each other. 

But after, Bull lays there, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts circle themselves, until Dorian rolls over. “You think very loudly, you know.”

“Sorry,” Bull sighs. He digs a thumb into the scar over his eye. 

Dorian sits up. He’s nervous, Bull can see it. “What... what do you need?” Dorian says the words like they’re in a foreign language. 

The fact that he says them at all sends a spike of warmth up Bull’s spine. Couple months ago Dorian would’ve pretended to sleep all night, if he stayed at all. Bull reaches a hand up, smoothes his palm against the small of Dorian's back. “You’re already giving me everything I could hope for, kadan.”

Dorian scoffs. “I doubt that.” But he lays back down, curls himself around Bull. 

There’s more words in Dorian. He’s practically quivering with them. Bull knows because the same words, or near enough, are buzzing through his veins too. They have been for... shit. A long time, if Bull’s being honest. 

Damn, though. Is it too soon? Too late?  

Bull would rather think about the demons.

Somehow he manages to drop off for a few minutes. The sound of the first morning bell rouses him, and the mage shifts his body. It’s tempting to stay in bed, enjoy a last quickie, but it’ll just make the rest of the morning frantic. Not like they won’t have a tent to share on the road. 

“Is it time already?” Dorian murmurs, fingers sliding up Bull’s ribs.

“Yeah. Come on.”

It’s almost like old times, all of them being on the road like this. Though there’s a fair amount of tension between Blackwall and Evelyn, and that's new. Still, there’s enough of a buffer that it’s not too awkward. Sera makes terrible jokes, Varric makes different terrible jokes, and Bull dusts the whole thing with a fine layer of puns. Pretty soon everyone is laughing but Cole and Solas. Even Madame de Fer cracks a few rare smiles. 

Hard to say for sure, but Bull guesses they’re all thinking some variation on the same thing running through his head. If it’s a fraction as bad as the nightmare future that Dorian and the Inquisitor saw, there’s no chance. Oh, Bull thinks the Inquisition will win. Absolutely. But they’re not all gonna make it out of this.

So the weeks of travel pass, agonizingly slow days where it feels like they’re crawling, nights that blink by in a haze of frantic lust. He’s never been able to get enough of Dorian, but this is a new facet. Sometimes he doesn’t even get hard all the way, content to just move, to touch, to watch Dorian come apart. Sometimes it’s the opposite, Dorian offering himself with no obligation to reciprocate. The night before the assault they simply hold each other.

There’s a rush of preparation. The siege engines have been brought into position. Rocky’s taught Bull enough that the Qunari can see the walls won’t withstand much. Time begins to speed up and slow down all at once, the way it always does in the chaos of battle. There are moments that stand out. Breaching the gates. Fighting their way in. The look on the faces of the Wardens that Evelyn spares. 

Then: Clarel. Erimond. More words, more bluster. And then a dragon. 

Bull sticks close to the Inquisitor. They climb and climb and climb. Clarel goes down.

But she’s not the only one. Bull’s running, the stones lurching underneath him, watching Dorian scramble just ahead.  _ Maybe he’ll make it. Don’t let him fall. Please, let him make it. _ Bull repeats the thought, shit, call it what it was - a prayer - as the stone drops out from under his own feet. 

He’s falling.

***

Bull opens his eye. He’s dead. He’s dead, looking out at some hellscape nightmare. He’s dead, and all he can think is,  _ I never told him. _ His head hurts, a buzzy ringing that might be a mild concussion, if he were alive. Which he’s not. 

“Oh, this is simply unacceptable.” 

It’s Dorian's voice. Bull is imagining it, castigating him. How could he have been such a fucking coward? He should have said it when he had the chance. And now Dorian - if he even lived - his kadan, would never know -

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

Bull frowns. Imagining he’s hearing Dorian is one thing. Imagining he’s hearing  _ Hawke  _ is another. He sits up. 

Sort of. Well, his muscles move right, but the sky is on one side, and a wall of rock is on the other. He sees Hawke, standing perpendicular off of a pile of stone. And on the wall is -

“Dorian!” Bull leaps up, launching himself at the mage. He shouldn’t be able to fall up, but he does, tackling Dorian. 

“Kaffas, you oaf, be careful!” Dorian bleats as they roll together. 

Bull kisses him, laughing, the pain in his head throbbing. “Kadan, kadan. You’re here.”

Dorian seems to suddenly understand what’s happening. “Bull? Bull, your head is bleeding.”

Bull’s eye is stinging with tears and blood. “Dorian. Dorian.” Bull cradles Dorian to him. They’re both dead, they must be, but he’s here.  _ He’s here.  _ “I thought - shit, Dorian. I thought I’d never get to say it.”

It’s obvious from the way Dorian clutches him tighter and doesn’t ask for clarification that the mage knows what Bull’s about to say. 

So he says it. “Dorian. I love you. I know we’re dead, but it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re here, and I love you, and -”

Dorian gives a choking sort of laugh. “Bull. Bull, we’re not dead.”

Bull freezes as the words cut through the pain in his head, fear finally overcoming the giddiness. That's the sort of shit a demon would say. He slowly pushes himself off Dorian. “What do you mean, not dead?”

“We’re in the Fade,” Dorian says, his brows knotting together briefly. “Didn’t you see the flash of green? Evelyn opened a rift, right before we hit the ground.”

Bull frowns. He begins to pull his body into position, in case he needs to attack or defend.

“You don’t believe me. Kaffas, Bull, it’s me. Look, the others are just behind you.”

Bull doesn’t turn. He can hear motion behind him, but it could be a trick. 

“Bull. We’re in the Fade,” Dorian said, his voice calm but insistent. “You, me, Evelyn, Hawke and Stroud, and Solas.”

“I assure you, Iron Bull, he speaks the truth.” Solas’ voice had that familiar, sneering edge.

It could all be a trick. All of it. Demons are sneaky bastards. 

“Amatus,” Dorian says, his voice quiet. “It’s all right.”

Bull is tense, ready for anything. It seems like Dorian, but - fuck - demons can get right in his brain. Show him exactly what he wants to see. 

Without thinking about it, he reaches down, fast, before Dorian can stop him, and messes up his moustache. 

“Hey!” Dorian squeals, hands going protectively to his facial hair. “Bull!” He frantically twists the tips back into a curl.

Evelyn’s laugh rings out from behind them. 

Demons don’t laugh, not from amusement. And they’re not obsessed with their moustaches. Bull starts to smile. “Looking good, kadan.”

There’s no chance to talk about what Bull had said. Everyone’s watching them now, and Solas is blathering on about the Fade. Bull pulls a potion from his belt and takes a few swigs. The ringing in his head fades. He stands, holding a hand out to help Dorian up. He just doesn’t happen to let go once the mage is standing.

Dorian doesn’t pull away either.

They’re making plans, going to try to get out again through a different rift. Bull pays attention, but he also checks out the lay of the... is it even land? Whatever it is, it’s hard like volcanic stone, and everything’s covered in a thin layer of moisture. Not slime, exactly, more like dew. Still, gonna make things slippery. Bull knows how to use that to his advantage. 

“Bull, I need my staff,” Dorian whispers to him.

“What? Oh, sorry.” Bull lets go of Dorian's hand.

“Don’t ever be sorry for that,” Dorian murmurs, flashing him a smile.

The Fade sucks, basically. They fight a crap-ton of these little demons. Evelyn and Hawke insist they look like spiders. To Bull they look like the child soldiers of the fog warriors on Seheron. He doesn’t know what they look like to Dorian, but by the set of the mage’s jaw, Bull’s not about to ask. 

There’s all these broken mirrors for Evelyn to check out. One of them is by this fake graveyard. They’re taking a breather while the Inquisitor does whatever it is she’s doing to the mirrors. Dorian's standing there, looking at the headstones, and he starts to laugh.

Bull walks up next to him and takes his hand. It’s nice, being able to do that. Bull had never seen the appeal before, but something about the feeling of Dorian's fingers interlaced with his own seems... it’s like a new kind of strength, a solidity. “What’s so funny?”

Dorian nods at the headstones. One says  _ Dorian Pavus: Temptation,  _ the other  _ The Iron Bull: Madness.  _ Not for the first time, Dorian shakes his head, points out how ridiculous it all is. “You. Me.”

“Yeah,” Bull says, squeezing his hand. “Yeah.”

For a few seconds they just stand there, not speaking. 

Dorian doesn’t look at him when he says it. “I love you too. You know that, right?”

Bull’s throat clenches closed, and his sinuses burn suddenly. Funny that it felt different to hear it than to say it. He wasn’t expecting that. He pulls Dorian's hand up, kisses it. “Damn right. I’m loveable as hell.”

Dorian yanks his hand away and swats him on the arm. “You ridiculous brute. I’ve half a mind to take it back for that.”

“Ahhh, I’d just woo you back with my manly charms.” Bull grins and flexes his biceps. 

“If you two are quite done canoodling, I believe we are moving on.” Solas’ voice is a bucket of ice water dumped over their heads.

“Psh. Canoodling. I do no such thing,” Dorian grumbles as he turns to follow the elf. 

“Yeah you do,” Bull mutters to him.

Dorian sighs. “Yes. I do.”

They move on, following the glowing spirit thing around. The situation is a little messed up, but Bull had grudgingly come to trust Solas when it came to what was a demon versus what was a spirit. 

The longer they stay, the harder it gets. First it was just the little guys, the things Solas called ‘fearlings’. Then a few rage demons. Then a pride demon. Then two.

Evelyn’s got her back to Bull and the battle is raging around them. “Could use a little of that Reaver action, Bull,” she says, her voice taut with fear as she casts yet another barrier.

Bull grits his teeth. She’s right. He doesn’t want to do it, but she’s right. “Warn ‘em,” he growls. 

Evelyn shouts instructions to the others, her high-pitched voice carrying over the fray. Bull doesn’t listen. He’s shedding all the layers of control, fast, dropping down into himself, drawing on the pain and rage and fear. He hates doing this, hates letting Dorian see him this way, hates how dangerous it might get. He’s never struck an ally while caught in the throes of bloodlust, but it’s been close.

But even as he hates it, hates himself for this power, he feels the ecstasy of it call to him, sing in his blood. The Tamassrans told him this was a gift of glory, that he was tapping into the blood of the dragon. For a while he’d even believed it. But it wasn’t glory. It was a curse. His senses tingle, and the acrid tang of the fear and fury of the enemy overwhelms his mind, forcing his limbs to react.

In this state, Bull is nothing short of a killing machine. His axe is an extension of his body, slicing swaths of demon gore. The more demons are drawn to him, the more powerful he becomes, his muscles surging with preternatural strength, his roars wordless, his blood pounding a drumbeat with the distant echo:  _ ataashi. ataashi. ataashi. _

Between one blink and the next he comes to. He’s on one knee, covered in blood and filth, shaking with exhaustion. The battle is over. The others are a dozen yards away, watching him. It’s always like that, when he comes around. All the familiar faces, they all look at him, faces etched with dread and pity and apprehension, waiting to see if this is the time he loses it and they have to end him. 

He manages a quick glance. Yeah, they’re all staring. Bull lets his head hang, heavy on his neck. He wipes a drop of moisture from his nose with the back of his hand, not ready to get up and face them just yet. Everything hurts, dozens of cuts and bruises beginning to impress themselves on his consciousness.

Footsteps approach, squelching through the gore. The rhythm is confident, not the usual faltering step. Not even Krem approaches him that sure-footed. It must be -

Shiny buckled boots come into his range of vision. Dorian kneels in front of him, grasping Bull’s wrist. “Hey. Hey, Bull.” There’s a smile in his voice, and warmth in the way he throws Bull’s cadence back at him. The other hand proffers a potion.

“Dorian.” Bull swallows the elfroot, breathing a bit easier as it takes hold.

“You all right?” Dorian rubs his thumb along Bull’s wrist.

_ No. No, I’m not all right. I’m a fucking monster.  _ “Yeah. I’m all right.”

“Come on. Up you get,” Dorian says, guiding Bull to stand. “We’re almost there. The rift is just ahead.”

But of course, it’s not that easy. It’s never fucking that easy. The rift is ahead, but as they emerge from a crack in the rock, there’s this huge fucking spider demon thing. Dorian and Bull are standing closest to Hawke. They see his shoulders slump. “Fenris will never forgive me for this,” he mutters. And with the next breath he raises his voice, insisting that he needs to stay behind.

There’s no time to think about it. Evelyn’s eyes dart between Hawke and Stroud. The hesitation only lasts a fraction of a second before her posture solidifies and she stands straighter. “Hawke....”

“Say goodbye to - to Varric for me.” And that's it. The mage takes off towards the spider, blasts of fire and slashes from his staff carving a path for them to escape. 

***

It’s later, back at the camp. Aside from Hawke, they all made it. Most everyone is giddy. Varric is not. But even the dwarf is still managing a couple of smiles as he spins tale after tale for Cassandra, sitting close to the bonfire, tankard in hand. 

It’s weighing on Bull, those last few moments in the Fade. But now’s not the time to brood. Now’s the time to celebrate. He’s got his arm around Dorian, and if the mage is currently having a comically bitter argument with Vivienne about some minor technical point of magical theory, it doesn’t matter. Bull’s other hand is clutching a flagon, and as long as Dorian doesn’t cause Bull to spill too much, he’s good. Eventually Vivienne rolls her eyes, gives Dorian a withering smile, and rises, serpentine, in search of a decent drink, or so she says.

“Hey,” Bull says into Dorian's ear. He points with his chin. Cullen is seated on the other side of the fire, deep in entirely-too-serious conversation with Leliana. Krem walks up behind him, a tankard in each hand. He stands patiently as Cullen gesticulates at the spymaster, clearly riled up about something. He falters when he sees Red looking pointedly over his shoulder.

Cullen turns. The annoyance melts from his face as he stares, wide-eyed, up at Krem. One side of Krem’s mouth twists up, and he hands the drink to the Commander. 

Leliana smirks and rises, smoothing down the front of her robes before gliding away. Krem takes the now-empty seat, shaking his head in amusement at Cullen's owlish blinks of astonishment.

“Oh,” Dorian says, a little catch in his voice. “How lovely.”

Bull chuckles. “Never thought I’d live to see the day you went all romantic on me.”

Dorian smacks his chest, lacing his palm with sparks. “Not a word, brute.” The fact that his hand lingers on Bull’s chest goes unspoken.

“There’s gotta be some words you want me to say,” Bull murmurs into his ear. “Like  _ right there.  _ And  _ fuck yes.” _ He lets his voice go into a low rumble, the way he knows Dorian likes it.

And Dorian does, indeed, seem to melt into him. But a second later, he twists, looking up into Bull’s face. “There is, perhaps, another word I wouldn’t mind hearing again.”

Bull’s heart stutters. “Yeah? You sure?” 

“Yes. Yes, I think - I think I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Dorian confesses, his eyes too large and limpid for such a public space. 

So Bull stands, holding a hand out. Dorian takes it, and they head to their tent.

The camp is loud. Wardens and Inquisition troops have shed the wariness, thanks to post-battle relief and copious amounts of ale. There’s singing and laughter coming from every corner. The fabric tent does little to muffle the cacophony, and so Bull presses his lips right up to Dorian's ear, brushing the shorn stubble of hair at the mage’s temple. “I love you.”

Dorian shudders and laughs, all breath. “This is ridiculous, you know that.”

“I know.” Bull runs his palms up the outside of Dorian's arms.

“Fasta vass, I’m in love with a Qunari,” Dorian says to himself.

“What  _ will _ the neighbors think?” Bull murmurs, his mouth moving down along Dorian's neck.

He’d meant it as a joke, but a splinter of tension jabs into Dorian when Bull hits that sore spot. And it hits Bull too. Because it’s one thing for them to be openly together among friends. Fuck, Bull would shout it from every rooftop if he could. Who wouldn’t be proud to call himself Dorian's lover? 

But that doesn’t mean it goes the other direction. Bull’s got a reputation, after all. He’s huge and crude and scarred and definitely not handsome. And Dorian loves him despite that, yeah, but the events in the Fade hang heavy. How could Dorian accept him, truly, having seen Bull lose control?

“I think they’ll be insanely jealous, actually.” Dorian's voice cuts into Bull’s spiral of doubt. “And with good reason. When they hear how brilliant, kind, charismatic, strong -”

Bull relaxes. “Don’t forget sexy,” he adds.

“ - And sexy my love is? All that,  _ and _ able to hold a circus at a moment’s notice, just by taking off his trousers? All of Minrathous will weep tears of envy.” 

Bull snorts into Dorian's shoulder. “I love you,” he says again, marvelling at how the words shift and change to mean so many things. How easy they spring to his lips, now. 

“I love you too, amatus.” 

It’s less easy for Dorian to say, the words spoken slowly and with intent. Which makes it all the sweeter to hear, Bull thinks. Bull yanks him close again. 

Suddenly there’s a lot less talking, as they find better things to do with their mouths. Clothes are shed, and Bull eases them down to the bedroll, cradling the back of Dorian's head.

Dorian pushes Bull a few inches away, his hands on Bull’s shoulders. “Will you do something for me?”

“Of course, kadan.”

“Will... will you... I know you always hold back when you take me. Don’t. I want... I want all of you.” 

Bull pauses. He could pretend he doesn’t know what Dorian's talking about, but the mage would see right through that.

And anyway, it’s true. He does hold back. Of course he does. He could snap Dorian in half. It’s one thing to let go in battle, where the Reaver bloodlust has a use, but here, it’s just dangerous. He’s done it, of course. Part of his training involved tapping that power outside of battle. But that had been under strict supervision of the Tamassrans, who could bring him under control. “I don’t think you realize what you’re asking,” he says.

“Believe me, I do. Please.” Dorian's eyes look almost black in the dim light of the tent.

“Kadan, if I lose control, I could seriously hurt you.”

“I know what I’m asking. I’ve seen you when you let go. I want that. I want that for myself.”

Still, Bull hesitates. Fuck, he’d love nothing better than to let himself  _ take, _ to not worry about losing control. But the price is too high. “If I let go, I might not be able to stop if you say your watchword.” 

Dorian's huff of laughter is quiet. “Amatus. Do you really think I need a watchword to stop you? Do you think I ever did?” 

Bull goes to answer, but he can’t move. At all. He can’t even blink. Hell, he’s not even sure his heart is still beating.

After a second Bull realizes he’s blinking again. “What  _ was _ that?”

Dorian smirks. “Magic,” he says, waggling his fingers. “I can’t keep it up for long, of course, it would kill you. And as you know I’m quite handy with lightning. You’re not wearing your fancy boots, so a jolt will repulse you. If I can fell a druffalo, I can stun you. And of course, there’s sleep, ice, fire....” He ticks off the options one by one.

Bull’s barely listening. All this time,  _ Dorian _ had been the one in control. It was mind-boggling. Bull should be terrified, he knows. No one should have this amount of power over him. 

But he’s not terrified. Just the opposite. He feels... warm. No, not warm. His mind races, trying to identify the foreign emotion.

Safe. He feels  _ safe.  _

Like he had been under the Qun. Like he thought he never would be again. And it’s better, even, because it’s not fear keeping him in check, it’s  _ Dorian, _ and he loves Bull, and -

“Are you crying?” Dorian asks, reaching up to touch Bull’s face. “That’s rather the opposite effect than I intended.”

Bull laughs as he lowers himself down, scooping Dorian into his arms.  _ “You _ cry all the time.”

“Lies.” Dorian's muffled voice squawks from the crook of Bull’s neck.

Laughing again, Bull pushes himself back up. “You sure about this?”

“Yes.”

There’s another moment of hesitation, but not from anticipation, not fear. Still, Bull’s not completely sold. Not yet. “Maybe you should tell me what it is you want,” Bull suggests, his voice dropping. “Paint a picture for me.”

“I think it’s rather straightforward. Or do you need instructions on how to fuck me?” Dorian does that thing where he makes his words all velvety, the thing that makes Bull’s breath catch in his chest. “I want it, Bull. I want to feel you take me just how you want.” His hand reaches for the oil vial. As he speaks, he slicks his fingers and reaches around, opening himself up. “I want you to fuck me, hard. I want you growling and biting. I want you to use me until you can’t even form words. I want to feel you slam into me as you come, fill me with it, with you.”

Damn, but his voice gets to Bull. He’s hard now, sliding himself along the groove of Dorian's hip. “That all?” Bull grunts the words as he ruts. His skin feels hot, even in the heat of the desert. 

“Unless you’d like to fuck my face,” Dorian offers, tilting an eyebrow. “Make me choke on you. You never do that. Maybe I want it.”

Bull growls, rearing up to his knees. He grabs Dorian by the shoulders, hauling him up and forward, shoving his face towards Bull’s cock. The mage takes him in, opening his throat, but he still gags and fuck, it’s hot. 

Bull pushes Dorian down, his cock filling the back of Dorian's throat, cutting off his air. Bull holds him there. One second, then two, then three. “Show me. Show me, kadan. I need to know.”

Suddenly Bull can’t move again. Yet Dorian reaches up and pushes Bull’s hands away from his neck easily, like he was arranging a doll. He calmly lifts himself off Bull and kneels, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “Believe me now?”

Whatever power is holding Bull is released. He can tell because he’s shaking with excitement. “Yeah. Yeah. Holy shit, Dorian, I didn’t think you - I thought you -”

“Would lose control of my magic? Never. Amatus. Please. Let me give you this.” Dorian reaches up and takes Bull’s cheeks in his hands. “You’ve taken such good care of me. Can’t I do the same for you?”

Bull nods. Dorian smiles, then leans back down. He licks Bull back to firmness, then sucks him in.

It feels good. It always feels good. Dorian's tongue is dragging along his glans, almost milking him, just the way Bull likes it.

Bull begins to relax. He slows his breathing and closes his eyes. Little by little, he begins to shut down the mental safeguards. Shutting them down is easy. But once they’re down, that's it. There’s no getting them back until he’s sated.

His senses sharpen. The smell of Dorian's musk is somehow sharp and soothing, mixed with dry sand and sandalwood oil and tent canvas. He can smell the drops of moisture beginning to form on Dorian's cock. 

Sounds come into focus. The subtle click of suction, in counterpoint with a slick hand pumping his skin. And there, a moan of pleasure when Bull begins to rut upward. He can hear Dorian's breath, hear the mage slide his other hand down his chest and take hold of his own cock. 

Bull’s grunting now, in time to the motion of Dorian's mouth. It’s not enough. He needs more. The blood starts to burn in his veins. 

He opens his eye and looks down, his vision tinged with red. Dorian is looking up at him, eyes wide as his mouth is stretched around Bull’s cock. He makes a tiny sound of encouragement. 

Bull grabs his head and holds it steady, fucking into Dorian's mouth. The last of the safeguards are falling away; his mind blank save for the basest of responses. Even at that level, he knows: Dorian is  _ his. _

So Bull takes. Growling, he yanks Dorian away from his cock and flips him over. Dorian tumbles, boneless, his legs spread. Bull can smell Dorian's need now, the pheromones thick in the air, not a hint of fear. Grabbing Dorian's ass, he spreads the mage wide and plunges, hilting himself into Dorian's slick and waiting body. 

Dorian screams into the bedroll and the scent of lust spikes. Bull hunkers down, almost prone, his teeth sinking into Dorian's skin where neck meets back. He can taste blood and skin while the mage writhes underneath him. He’s pounding into Dorian, grunting rhythmically, feeling the mage’s body jolt as he slams home again and again. With each thrust, Dorian whines, a warbling sound of surrender that shoots straight to Bull’s cock. 

And then the body beneath him shudders. He feels the muscles constrict around his cock and smells the pollen scent of Dorian's come. Every nerve lights up, the pleasure ripping through every cell in Bull’s body, transforming him, pitching to an impossible peak. Bull roars against Dorian, unable to control his hips as he spurts his release, grinding Dorian even deeper into the bedroll.

The scent of elfroot is the next thing Bull remembers. He’s on his back, a pillow under his head. He blinks his eye open. “Kadan?” He reaches out, frantic.

“Right here,” Dorian says, taking his hand. “Right here.” He’s laying next to Bull’s blind side, propped up on one elbow. 

“How long?”

“A few moments, nothing more.” Dorian sounds calm. His hand rubs along Bull’s chest.

“I hurt you,” Bull says. Even if he couldn’t smell the elfroot, he tastes the blood in his mouth.

“Barely,” Dorian drawls. “Just a little love bite. I’m perfectly fine.”

There doesn’t seem to be much to say to that, so Bull shuts his mouth and takes a quick inventory of his own body. His vision is back to normal, and his pulse. 

“How do you feel?” Dorian asks, rolling to lay on top of Bull. 

Bull hums noncommittally. Because the truth is, a part of him feels fucking fantastic. But the other part is sinking into a dark and cold place, knowing that his pleasure had caused so much pain for Dorian.

“Speechless, eh? Well I feel absolutely amazing, in case you’re wondering,” Dorian says pointedly. “Thank you for that.”

“You’re thanking me? For hurting you?” Bull frowns.

“You of all people know I like a little pain,” Dorian points out.

“Yeah but -”

“But nothing. Bull. I love you. All of you. I love this part as much as the part that craves those disgusting little pink cakes that rot your teeth. No one’s ever... seen fit to share themselves so fully. It was -” Dorian hesitates, searching for the word. “It was  _ glorious. _ So yes, I’m thanking you.”

Maybe it’s because he’d just let down all his barriers, but somehow the words worm into Bull’s gut, unraveling the worry. He doesn’t quite believe Dorian, not just yet, but at least he has this moment. He wraps his arms around Dorian. “Kadan. Thank you. Or you’re welcome. Or whatever,” he says, laughing a bit. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to IoniaFletcher and thespectaclesofthor for beta'ing and listening to me fret about this chapter, respectively. :D


	22. Protest the Setting Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Bull can see the future. Sometimes he wishes he couldn't.

Bull might not have been able to wield time magic, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see into the future, in his own way. It was a handy trick the Ben-Hassrath had taught him. Look close enough, and you can see what someone’s gonna do before they know it themselves. 

Would be nice to have the ability to turn it off, though. To  _ not _ see, sometimes. Because then maybe he wouldn’t see Dorian, reading through some old scraps of papyrus under a beam of harsh desert sun. 

They’re in Coracavus. The place has been cleaned out, the darkspawn sealed back underground, and the Venatori archeologist in charge of the works had been brought back to Griffon Wing Keep. So Dorian has time to sift through the remains of the Tevinter ruin.

Whatever he’s reading has him upset. Bull can see it from across the room. His hands are gripping the edge of the stone table so hard his knuckles are white. After a second, he closes his eyes, his jaw clenched.

Bull makes his way over. “Bad?”

Dorian opens his eyes without looking up and gives a tight shake of his head. “This is a journal, from the mid-Blessed Age. Relatively recent. Written by a slave - a scribe. Detailing fears that his daughter, who worked the kitchens, was the victim of a blood sacrifice. No doubt confiscated from him when he was sent to prison. According to this,” Dorian pulls out another scrap, “-his crime was ‘inciting dissidence’.” Dorian looks to the side, anger quivering under his skin.

“Yeah?” Bull nods, in that way that you do when something shitty happened a long time ago.

“Yes. And here,” Dorian selects a different parchment, this one much older. “More prisoner records. Iunia Talvas. ‘Inciting dissidence’. She had the temerity to question why her husband disappeared.”

Bull’s not quite sure where Dorian's going with this, so he just nods. 

“This one,” Dorian holds up the second record, “- is dated just before the Second Blight.”

“Oh, shit,” Bull says, because yeah, that's pretty fucking old, and he needs to say something, even though he’s still not sure why Dorian's so upset.

“A thousand years, Bull. Nothing has changed in a  _ thousand years. _ ” The last few words are almost a shout. He sets down the parchment scraps carefully. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet and calm. “Not everyone in Tevinter is happy with the way things are. I’m proof of that. But we cling to this idea that the Empire used to be this shining paragon. We used to be good, you see? We all believe it. It’s reassuring. Because if we were once this beacon of humanity, we could become so again, with just a little work. But it’s not true. We’ve never been good. We’ve always been as disgusting and depraved and utterly corrupt as we are now. A thousand years, Bull, and these two slaves experienced the same thing.”

He takes a breath, looking at the records on the dusty table. That's when Bull sees it: the clench of Dorian’s jaw, the spark in his eye - no longer from anger, but from determination. That's when Bull knows the seed of a decision has been planted.  _ He’s going back. He’s going back to Tevinter, and he’s going to leave you.  _

It might be a curse, being able to see that moment. But the Ben-Hassrath weren’t completely without mercy. Bull’s world has just cracked in a thousand places; it’s going to shatter. Not a matter of if, but when. But his training is there for him. He doesn’t let it show on his face. All that pain gets shunted to the side to deal with later, when he’s ready. For now he just rubs circles into Dorian's back. “Not all ‘Vints are assholes, though. Might know a couple good ones.”

Dorian straightens, pulling himself out of his black mood, and gives Bull half a smile. “Just a couple?”

“Well there’s Krem,” Bull says, smiling back, and damn does it hurt. “And that Mae woman. She seems all right. Related to Varric, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” Dorian laughs. “So I’ve heard.”

That night, Bull pulls out the ropes as they get undressed. Dorian looks at him quizzically, but nods. “If you like,” he says.

It takes a long time, getting Dorian just the way Bull wants him. There’s a few false starts, where Bull accidentally tickles the mage, or there’s confusion of which way to bend. But then Dorian settles in, relaxing, letting himself be bound with the blue silk cord. 

There’s something about the way Dorian lets himself be trussed up like this. It’s a special kind of yielding, fully aware and conscious. Not an act of submission in the truest sense, but a gift. And it’s one Bull very much needs right now. 

So he folds Dorian's legs back towards his chest, loops his forearms under his knees. It’s not a position Dorian’ll be able to keep up for long, but for now the mage is sinking into the feel of it. 

Bull helps him along. “Beautiful, kadan. So perfect for me. Gonna open you up. Get you all nice and ready for me. You want that?” He’s tracing his fingers over Dorian's entrance, watching it twitch.

“Please,” Dorian breathes.

When Bull leans down and replaces his finger with his tongue, Dorian groans. Bull wants to praise him, tell him how fucking amazing he is, but he’s not about to stop what he’s doing. So he hums into Dorian, sucking and licking and probing. Fuck, feeling him like this, his body opening for him? Exquisite is the only word that comes to Bull’s mind. 

And that's before Dorian starts rocking into Bull’s mouth. His tongue can only do so much, so his fingers take over, oiled up and sliding in. “Ahhh, that's it. There it is. Love feeling you like this, kadan. Feeling you make way for me. Feeling you get ready for my cock.”

“Bull.” It’s a moan and a promise and a plea. “More.”

“Fuck, you think you could come for me, just like this? Me with my fingers inside you?” Bull muses as he works in a second finger. 

“Ahhh - I - ungh,” Dorian grinds the words out, if they can even be called words.

“Ooh, maybe not. Maybe it’s not enough, huh? Maybe I could keep you like this, riding this edge for hours, till you’re out of your mind for me.” Bull presses into Dorian's prostate.

“Fuck,  _ please,” _ Dorian manages. “Stop teasing and fuck me.”

“You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood, ‘Vint,” Bull laughs, though it’s an empty threat. Bull’s not the one giving tonight. Not really. He pulls away from Dorian. And this is why he wanted the ropes. Because after a minute of working himself into Dorian, feeling the man relax around him, Bull picks him up. Wrapped up like this, it’s nothing for Bull to move Dorian's body against him. 

And yeah, maybe there’s a little of it that's symbolic. Maybe there’s a part of Bull that's getting used to the concept of wanting things for himself, of being selfish. Because for right now, tonight, Dorian's not going anywhere. He’s right where Bull wants him, giving everything he has to Bull, and Bull lets himself inhabit his desire. Whatever’s coming later, this is now, the two of them climbing higher and higher, balancing on the crest of a wave. Until Dorian's thrashing his head back and forth, moaning for release, and Bull changes the angle just so. And the wave breaks, first for Dorian, and then for Bull, as the mage’s spasms pull the peak out of him. 

Times like that, the future seems a long way off. And that's just fine with Bull.

The good thing is, Bull doesn’t get much chance to dwell on the future later, either. Because the next day, they’re going dragon hunting. They set out just before dawn. Sun’s coming up when they get to the location Frederic the draconologist had given them. It’s clearly one of the beast’s lairs; they pass a pit full of bones and half-eaten corpses. There’s a sandy ridge, and on the other side is a large sheltered hollow in the rock.

Varric just sighs. “Well this brings back memories.” He looks like he’s about to launch into a story, but then he shakes his head. Since Hawke sacrificed himself in the fade, the dwarf hasn’t been telling many stories.

Evelyn squeezes his shoulder but doesn’t say anything. They set the lures and hunker down under some rocks to wait.

And wait.

And  _ wait.  _

“How many lairs did Freddy say this dragon has?” Varric called out after a couple hours.

“Three,” Evelyn yelled back. “But he said she comes to this one the most often.”

“I’m starting to wonder how good a grasp of statistics our draconologist has,” Dorian says. “‘Most often’ could mean a lot of things.” Dorian didn’t look up from the sand and rock he’d been playing with, piling them into a little castle.

“Aw, come on, guys, where’s your sense of adventure?” Bull can’t believe he has to remind people how fucking exciting this is.  _ “Abyssal high dragon.  _ We’re going to be fucking  _ dragonslayers. _ ” 

“Speak for yourself, Tiny. I already  _ am _ a damn dragonslayer,” Varric laughs.

There’s a whistling whine from overhead. “She’s here,” Evelyn says. “Get ready.”

When the dragon flies into sight, she’s got the carcass of an alpha quillback in her talons. She drops it into the carcass pit with a screech, then wheels overhead, gaining speed for an attack.

Bull could feel his blood begin to sing. It’s like looking into the sun. If the sun was having a three-way with the moon and the stars and getting serenaded by chorus of spirits. Kind of like that. Except also if all of them were trying to kill you at the same time.

Bull snaps out of it and grips his axe, then rushes in, the war cry  _ taarsidath-an halsaam _ on his lips. Okay, maybe it’s not exactly a war cry. But close enough. 

The battle drenches him in the present. Fire and ice and magic; muscles and bone and blood. A lot of blood. 

Too much.

They’ve gone through all their regular potions and have only managed to wound one of the dragon’s rear legs. A sweep of her tail knocks Evelyn down, and she doesn’t get back up.

“Varric!” Bull calls out.

“Covering!” The dwarf responds. 

A volley of bolts sprays overhead as Bull runs to Evelyn’s body. The dragon screeches and takes wing. The boss hit her head on a rock, knocked herself unconscious. It’s not serious, except that there’s only one regeneration potion left. And those take time. 

A wash of blue. Dorian's cast a barrier. In the meantime he’s flinging his staff, ice exploding overhead, keeping the dragon at bay. Bull pours a potion into Evelyn’s mouth, watches as her body pulses, each burst of light giving her that much more life to live.

They’re outclassed. With all the tactical research, old Freddy failed to mention how deadly the creature’s claws were, or the fact she could suck them in with her wings. Bull senses that Dorian is tiring, and sooner or later the dragon’s gonna remember she can breathe fire. 

Bull looks at the mage. When Dorian sees his face, something seems to break. Bull knows the mage can see the full picture, same as him. 

And then he does something that's so unexpected, Bull’s heart lurches in his chest. 

Dorian turns and runs. 

He’s continuing to spray bolts of ice over his head, flinging the staff over his shoulder blindly. The dragon lurches through the sky after him.

Varric’s mouth hangs open for a second. “Holy shit - Sparkler!” He shouts, taking a few steps after him.

Bull watches the dragon; she’s up high. The ice bolts get further and further apart, then stop. Still, the dragon wheels. 

“What’s -” Evelyn comes to.

“Fucking Sparkler just fucking ran off,” Varric panted. “Idiot. Dragon’s smarter than that. She can count. She’s not gonna go after one body when she’s got three right here.” Suddenly Varric remembers what he’s saying and stops himself short. “Sorry, Tiny.”

Bull shakes his head. “Evelyn. You gotta try to make it to hiding. Those rocks there,” he points with his chin. “Fade step, then bury yourself best you can. Scouts’ll come looking in a day or so. Varric and I’ll stay, buy you time.” 

She doesn’t argue. Not because she doesn’t care, but because Bull’s right. Her spell is cast, and she disappears.

It’s good, in a way. Bull’s gonna die, yeah, but he’s gonna die fighting a fucking dragon. And this way, Dorian’ll never have to leave him, never have to make that choice. Because as hard as it’ll be for the mage to mourn, Bull knows it’ll be that much harder to just walk away.

The dragon stops her lazy circles and begins to come at them. The last fire potion is shared between he and Varric. 

“Been fun knowing you, Tiny.”

“You too, Varric.”

The flames come, swallowing them. It burns like fucking hell, but they make it through. Except the roaring sound doesn’t dissipate. And it’s more of a rumble. And it looks like the dragon hears it too; her head swivels around to find the source of the noise.

Over the top of the ridge is a puff of dust that turns into a cloud. And through it comes a fucking army of skeletons, boiling out of the sand: men and hyenas and phoenixes and quillbacks, all glowing blue. 

And right smack dab in the fucking center is Dorian Fucking Pavus, riding the corpse of the alpha quillback like he owns the thing. The dragon shrieks flame, but what harm is flame to a corpse? The bodies keep coming. Dorian rolls from the back of his mount, running to Bull and Varric. His arm sweeps a barrier over them.

The dragon lands, probably wondering why the food she’s already eaten is trying to attack her. The corpses swarm over her; it’s like watching rats take down a druffalo. 

“Where’s Evelyn?” Dorian pants, frowning.

“Hiding,” Bull starts to say, but then the dragon goes down, neck flailing like a serpent. 

The Inquisitor re-appears a moment later. She holds her hand aloft and the mark crackles. Whatever life the dragon had left oozes into the rift. There’s a smell of sulphur and a wheezing noise as the air escapes the dragon’s lungs. She’s dead.

Dorian waves, and all the skeletons collapse. “Well.” He brushes some dust from his robes. “That was moderately terrible.”

“Sparkler, anyone ever tell you you got a problem with understatement?” Varric sinks to the ground wearily. 

“Excuse me for -  _ Bull!”  _ Dorian yelps as Bull sweeps him off his feet.

“Oh, fuck, kadan, you’re so fucking incredible. Holy shit. Holy shit,” Bull babbles into Dorian's hair, twirling them both around. 

“You idiot,” Dorian scolds. “You didn’t think I was running away, did you? Vishante kaffas, give me a little credit.” 

Bull is laughing and crying a little, but mostly laughing. His kadan just killed a fucking  _ dragon, _ and they’re all  _ alive, _ and - “I just love you so much,” he burbles. 

“I love you too, amatus.” Dorian says it quiet. “Bull, are you... sweet Maker, Bull, you’re not... please tell me this didn’t....”

“Shit yeah, it did, you fucking kidding?” Bull clutches Dorian's ass a little tighter, grinding the mage’s hip against his half-hard dick.

“Oh for the love of all that's holy. Put me down.” Dorian reprimands him, but he’s laughing too. “Later, you great brute.”

“Holding you to that, kadan,” Bull growls.

“I’m sure you will,” Dorian sighs. “You always do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay. I kept flinching away from writing this chapter because of the ouch factor. There will almost assuredly be a happy ending, eventually, but ye best strap yourselves in for some angst. *shakes fist at Trespasser*


	23. Do Not Fear the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Corypheus is defeated, Dorian returns to Tevinter, leaving Bull behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kiddos, we're heading into Trespasser territory. This chapter is before the Exalted Council, but after the 'end' of the regular game.

“Are you  _ kidding  _ me right now?” Dagna’s eyes are as big as plates. Well, maybe not plates. But pretty big, anyway, as she gazes at the dragon’s tooth in Bull’s hand. “Can I touch it?”

Bull laughs. “I’m hoping you’ll do a little more than touch it. Wait, that sounds dirty. Look. I need you to do something for me.” 

Not hard to convince the dwarf to split the tooth in two and set each piece to make a necklace. Dagna improves on Bull’s original idea, which was to basically hack the thing in half and give the top to Bull and the bottom to Dorian. She convinces him to split it lengthwise, so it lays flat on the chest. 

“Plus that's gonna look a  _ lot _ better,” she nods. She holds the tooth up to her own chest. It stretches from her collarbone almost to her navel. “Man, I’d love to make some armor out of this.”

“Shit yeah,” Bull agrees. “Can you make my fittings dawnstone? And maybe silverite for Dorian? It’ll, uh, you know. Bring out his eyes.”

Dagna laughs in delight. “You got it. This some kind of Qun engagement ring, then?”

“Sorta. I’ve never seen one before. Not a lot of dragon teeth laying around.” 

“Good point,” Dagna says. “I’ll do it right after I work on this rune for Samson’s armor. Y’know, gotta save the world and all.”

“Yeah, no rush,” Bull says. But damn, if he isn’t chafing at the bit to give Dorian this necklace. Last time he tried to give a gift, it’d been a disaster. This time would be different. 

Of course there’s more to it than that. There’s an urgency eating away at Bull, an overwhelming need to call out this thing they have, to memorialize it. Bull knows it’s not gonna be forever. Every time he shuts his eyes, Bull sees that look on Dorian's face in the Western Approach. The one that said louder than anything that Dorian would leave him.

There is the small matter of Corypheus still in the way, too. Somehow, that seems... well it’s not like it doesn’t matter, because it does. But there’s nothing Bull can  _ do _ about it, so he doesn’t worry. If one or both of them dies, they die. It’s war. It happens. Bull knows how to deal with that.

Turns out neither of them die. Not in the Arbor Wilds, not in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. They make it. 

They all fucking make it. 

The night after the big banquet, Bull and Dorian head back to their room. And it is their room, now. Dorian's been sneaking his crap in bit by bit, adding a little every time Bull had gone anywhere with the Chargers. It’s comfy now. Bull’s never done comfy, but it’s pretty fucking great.

They’re both too tired and full to do break any records for athleticism or acrobatics. They kiss, Dorian straddling his lap as Bull sits in the bed. They keep kissing as Bull works him open, lips and tongue sliding as Bull slips his fingers in and out. And they don’t stop even when Dorian's riding him, rocking slow and sweet, arms around Bull’s neck, moans and sighs getting captured in each other’s mouths, until something shifts, some threshold met, and they crest the wave together. 

Then -  _ then _ \- Bull reaches under the bed and draws out the box. “Got you a little something, kadan,” he says.

“Ooh, is it another one of my possessions?” Dorian claps his hands in mock excitement.

“You’re such a little shit.” Bull shakes his head. “Here.”

Dorian opens the box. There’s only the light of the fire now, so he conjures a few wisps. They reflect in his eyes, now wide and shining. “Bull - are these....”

“It’s a dragon tooth,” Bull offers, lifting out Dorian's half carefully. “Old Qunari tradition. You split it in half so that no matter how far apart we are, we’ll always be together.”

Dorian's staring at the tooth in his hands, tracing the silverite with one finger. His head’s down, so Bull can’t see his reaction. Then a drop of water darkens the surface of the tooth. Then another.

“Kadan?”

“Are you... sure that's what you want?” Dorian's voice is thick.

“Hey. Hey,” Bull says, lifting Dorian's chin with his thumb. “Never been more sure about anything.”

“Bull -” The sound gets choked off. “Amatus, I - you need to know -”

“You’re leaving. I know. I get it,” Bull says, trying to make it easier.

Dorian blinks rapidly, staring at Bull in confusion. “I don’t want to.”

“It’s all right. Hey. It’s all right.” It’s not all right, actually. But what else can Bull say?

“I don’t  _ want _ to,” he says again, insistent. “But... Bull, I can’t abandon my homeland. I know that now. Not after everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve learned. I have to. I _have_ to... They need me.” 

Bull manages a smile. “They may need you, but they don’t deserve you.”

Dorian nods and heaves a breath. “I suppose not,” he admits, a wry twist working its way back into his voice. “I love you, Bull. I’m not going to let Tevinter take that away from me.” He scrabbles in the box with shaking hands and pulls out Bull’s necklace. He undoes the clasp and holds it up. “Allow me.”

Bull dips his head and lets Dorian fasten the necklace. He does the same, running his fingers over the tooth as it lays against Dorian's chest. He’s trying to think of something to say when Dorian speaks again. 

“I still have work to do here. I’m not leaving any time soon.” Dorian sounds determined.

“Shit, I hope not. You haven’t even finished moving all your crap in here yet,” Bull smiles, looking around the room.

When Dorian smacks him in the face with a pillow a second later, Bull has to admit he deserves it. He tackles Dorian back into the bed, nibbling kisses down his shoulders. 

***

‘Any time soon’ turns out to be a less than a year. A wonderful, amazing, dangerous, mind-blowing year. But then politics starts to get in the way. Orlais and Ferelden are getting antsy, Tevinter’s a powder keg again, and Evelyn’s mark is starting to eat away at her hand. 

Knowing that it was coming didn’t make it any easier. The whispers that an Exalted Council might be called are just starting to swirl when Dorian gets called back to Minrathous. Mae’s sent word - it’s vague, but it’s clear he needs to come right away. Somehow Bull thought that they’d have more notice. But suddenly time’s up, and Dorian's packing to leave. 

“You’ll send a crow before you take ship?” Bull asks, hovering over Dorian as he packs the last of his personal items into a trunk.

“How many times have we been over this?” Dorian begins to grouse, but then he sees the look on Bull’s face, and his expression softens. “Yes. I’ll send a crow, Amatus. Have no fear.”

“Yeah. Yeah, good,” Bull nods. “That’s good.” He babbles a bit more, going over their meager plans to stay in touch. 

“Bull,” Dorian says gently, laying a hand on his chest. 

Bull stops talking. Fuck. Fuck, this is so much harder than he thought.

Dorian pulls an envelope from his dressing table. “This is for you. For... for when... when you need it.” He laughs, the sound shaky. “Promise me you’ll wait until I’m out of the gates before you read it.”

“No promises, kadan.” Bull’s laughing and crying and how the hell did he ever think he could do this?

But he does. He somehow walks Dorian to the gate and they kiss again and one more time and then Dorian's leaving. He’s riding through the gate, and he’s taking Bull’s heart with him.

The rest of the night is a blur. Krem and the others get Bull drunk; no hardship there. The next morning is impossibly difficult, and not just because he wakes with a raging hangover. There’s a moment just between sleeping and waking where the smell of Dorian's bath oil is still on the sheets, and Bull reaches out and Dorian's not there. 

Bull scrambles out of the bed like it’s on fire. It’s not that he hasn’t been apart from Dorian here and there over the years, but this is different. This has no endpoint, no conclusion. He grabs some fresh pants and leaves. 

One thing’s for sure. He can’t sleep in that bed. Not now. Because if Bull sleeps there, eventually that scent will fade, and then...

Easy enough, then, to take over the bedroll in the stables. Blackwall’s long gone, after all. And it’s not a bad place to sleep. Good wholesome smells of hay and animals and leather and soot, and the sounds of animals shifting and settling. Nothing that reminds him of Dorian.

Cullen finds him after a couple days. He’s shifting from foot to foot, rubbing the back of his neck. “I - ah - wondered if you might fancy a game of chess?”

Bull almost says no. He doesn’t need or want Cullen's coddling. But then he sees the tinge of desperation in Cullen's eye. Shit, it’s easy to forget that other people miss Dorian too. So Bull says yes. And they play in the Great Hall, not the garden, that day, and the next. And the next.

The chess becomes the anchor of Bull’s day. The rest of the time, he’s lost. He wanders around the keep, avoiding his quarters and the library. Not that it helps much. Everywhere he turns is full of memory. He keeps up a good front, he thinks. When someone talks to him, he knows when to talk and laugh and listen. But the rest of the time, he’s adrift. 

Maybe a week goes by, hard to say, and Bull’s playing chess with Cullen when Vivienne walks up. “Iron Bull. I require your... singular talents. I trust I may be allowed to borrow him, Commander?”

Cullen half rises from his seat, dipping his head in deference. “Of course, Madame Enchanter. I can postpone his inevitable defeat until tomorrow.” The corner of his mouth twitches as he looks at Bull.

Cheeky fucker. Bull stands and holds his hand out, gesturing for Vivienne to take the lead. 

She doesn’t speak as she walks to the balcony. As soon as they round the top of the stairs Bull smells a bunch of foreign scents wafting towards him. “This something with alchemy?” he guesses.

“Not quite, my dear.” She gestures at one of the armchairs and Bull sees she’s got a tea service laid out, with half a dozen jars of tea samples. She explains as she settles into a graceful perch on the edge of the other chair. “Ambassador Montilyet has arranged for a visit from the Comtesse Solange Montbelliard. Of course, I will be hosting a private tea.” She said it the same way most folks talked about the sun coming up; inevitable, but no less crucial for it.

“You need a bodyguard or something?” Bull raised an eyebrow.

The laugh Vivienne gave was tinkling and hollow. “Of course not, darling. I require your nose. The Comtesse will arrive in three days’ time. I, unfortunately, have been suffering from allergies and cannot judge the quality of the tea samples I’ve procured.”

Damn, but she’s good. He peers at the containers of tea to give himself a second. Bull knows she’s lying about the allergies. There’s not a hint of congestion in her voice or breathing. But of course he can’t accuse her of making it up either, not without looking petty. Obviously she has something to say to him, and she’s choosing to couch it as a casual conversation, rather than an outright confrontation. The subtlety of the manipulation is as breathtaking as it is effective.

When he raises his glance, he finds that she’s smiling at him. A real smile, not one of those fake ones she does by moving her mouth around. Her lips haven’t shifted at all in fact, but her eyes are twinkling with amused satisfaction. 

Bull laughs. “All right,” he concedes. “Let me at ‘em.”

She hands the tiny jars to him one by one. He judges the freshness of each, and hands them back. Methodically, Vivienne lines up the jars in order, then brews a pot of the best tea and hands him a dainty teacup.

“Ma’am, you don’t really expect me to believe you couldn’t tell which one was the best.” One of the jars was clearly superior, the large dried leaves a vibrant forest green, and with a fragrance far stronger than the others.

“Oh, my dear Bull. Of course I know which is best. But I did not know which is  _ second-best _ . I cannot serve Solange the best tea, not right away. She expects Skyhold to be a distant hovel, bereft of luxuries. It will not do to divest her of this misapprehension right away, or to appear to be trying too hard to impress. No, first she shall be served the second-best tea. Which, as you pointed out, is still of high quality. Then, and only then, I shall berate the maid for serving the Comtesse such swill. A fresh pot will be procured, and Solange will understand that despite our military strength, the Inquisition is not without finesse.” This time she gives him a fake smile, a twitch of her lips showing just a hint of teeth. She looks like a damn tiger, and Bull is glad as hell she’s on their side.

Except for one thing. “Uh, ma’am, you think you could go easy on the serving girl bit? That's kinda hard, setting someone up like that.”

Vivienne raises an eyebrow. “Darling. I’m disappointed in you. Trust me, my maid will be fully briefed beforehand. And compensated well for her performance.” 

Bull wants to shrivel into something much smaller. “Oh. Uh, sorry.” Suddenly it’s real important for him to examine the teacup in his hand.

She accepts his apology with a nod. “There is one other thing. It is unseemly to have our most fearsome warrior sleeping in the stables like some untamed beast. Please be sure to find a proper bed to sleep in while the Comtesse and her party are in Skyhold.” 

Bull scowls at the forget-me-nots painted on the porcelain. “Ma’am?”

“Was I unclear?”

“You’re telling me where to sleep?” Bull looks up. 

The lines of Vivienne’s face might as well have been carved from stone, but her eyes were soft with sympathy. “I’m not  _ telling  _ you anything,” she clarified. “I merely  _ suggest, _ for the good of the Inquisition. And, if I might be so bold, for your own best interest as well.”

For an instant, Bull wants to tell her all of it: how he can’t go back to his room, knowing how empty it is, knowing how it still smells like Dorian, that he’s caught between wanting to preserve that forever and avoid it for the rest of his life. 

Before his resolve breaks, Vivienne resumes speaking. “Change comes to us all, whether we want it or not. But we should not let grief define our habits for too long. Stewing is for meat, not men. Whether you choose to resume your quarters or take other rooms is entirely up to you. What matters is that you choose from a place of strength, not weakness.”

Bull swallows and nods. He drains the tea from the tiny cup and sets it down. “Good tea,” he notes.

“Of course it is, dear.”

His mind is obtusely blank as he rises and makes his way to the top floor of the tavern. Vivienne’s right -- he can’t hide in the stables the rest of his life. Not that he believes there’s anything wrong with sleeping there; fuck all that bullshit about the Comtesse. But he can’t hide forever, drifting along trying not to think about things. Bull needs to get his shit together.

When he gets to his room, Bull stands in the doorway for a minute. Shit, he’s being melodramatic. Dorian isn’t dead, just... away. For a while.  _ Possibly forever. _

Bull shakes his head and pulls the letter from the nightstand. It’s too dark to read, so he fumbles to light a candle. Even that hurts; he’d gotten used to Dorian waving it alight. But eventually the flame sputters to life, and he reads.

_ Amatus, _

_ How long did you hold out? I fear that were I in your place, it would still be the same day. I can’t imagine being in Skyhold, surrounded by all those memories we made together.  _

_ I meant what I said. Tevinter will not - cannot - come between us. For us to be parted would mean that there is something that can be separated, that can be broken down into constituent parts. And that is no longer true. Maybe once, at the beginning, but no longer. Now, I daresay we are part of each other. Even the Ashkaari, Koslun himself, knew that some things were inevitable. After all, it was he who said:  _ They are bound by their being. Asit tal-eb. It is to be.

_ And so we are, bound by our being, our connection fated. Never doubt that.  _

_ I will send word as soon as I can. I love you. _

_ Your kadan, _

_ Dorian _

Bull reads it once, then again, and again. His Ben-Hassrath training has it devoted to memory on the third repetition, but that doesn’t stop him running his eye over the page a dozen times. Carefully, carefully, he sets the parchment into the top drawer, unfolded, not wanting to risk that the creases will mar Dorian's bold script. 

It still hurts. It still fucking hurts, but at least there’s a shape to the pain. It’s not amorphous, not that vague fog which had clung to him for most of the last week. It’s the dull ache of a missing eye or limb. Or heart. A piece of him is missing. That's all. And Bull knows how to deal with that. You don’t pretend you never had two eyes -- you find a way to function, to live, to make room for what’s missing until you don’t notice it so much. 

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the now-faint scent of spice and musk. It’ll be fine. Bull’s pretty sure: it’ll be fine. He can do this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm guessing there's 4-5 chapters left, but we'll see. Also, sorry for the delay. Frankly, I knew this was gonna hurt to write, so I kept putting it off. Ah, the joys of writing.


	24. Fall Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull waits a long time for a message from Dorian.

The thing about a broken heart is, sometimes it’s not a clean break. Sometimes there’s no slice of a knife, severing the organ in half. No burst of flame rendering it to dust within moments. 

Sometimes, it’s a petrification. A slow death, flesh becoming stone bit by bit, from the center , till all it takes is the weakest of blows, and it shatters.

Bull doesn’t quite notice at first. There’s a crow with a message when Dorian takes ship, ten days after leaving Skyhold. It’s brief, and addressed to Leliana, of course. No room for a personal note, but Bull expected that. There’s another message once Dorian disembarks. This one takes a while, sent via courier. 

It’s also brief, and in code.  _ Situation worse than expected. Eyes and ears everywhere. Cannot send word through established channels. Cannot risk personal correspondence. _

Bull glances at the decoded note and hands it back to Leliana. “Well, shit.”

“Have no fear, Bull. I am not without resources. I will find a way to open communication. I will keep you informed if there is any word.” Leliana, as always, rides that line between deadly professionalism and sympathy. 

“It’s fine,” Bull says, and it’s a lie, but an easy one. Because it will be fine. He can handle not being in contact for a bit. It’s not like he thought it would be a quick trip. 

So Bull tucks that disappointment away. It’s petty and foolish and he doesn’t have time for that crap. After the initial pain of the first couple weeks apart had subsided, Bull had accustomed himself to Dorian's absence. But the month stretches out, then another. And another. Dispatches are coming in, Bull knows. Leliana gives him cryptic updates, letting him know Dorian's at the very least alive and active. But there’s still no letters. Nothing personal. 

It’s four months on, and Leliana gives Bull yet another accounting of Dorian's activity. It’s hazy; politics, back-door talks, an assassination attempt so feeble as to be laughable. 

Bull nods, the motion continuing longer than intended as he works up the courage to ask.

“I’m afraid there’s still no... personal messages.” Leliana pauses, the silence heavy with sympathy. “Bull, it is very likely he is simply trying to protect you.”

“Protect me.” Bull frowns.

“It is a common occurrence in Tevinter, to target the loved one rather than the enemy.”

Bull folds his arms against the obvious pandering. “Red. Come on.”

Leliana licks her lips and glances to the side. “I apologize. That was unworthy of me. Your association was not a secret. Perhaps it has become necessary to maintain a pretense of severed ties.” 

“That’s the Tevinter I know and love,” Bull sighs.

Bull doesn’t lose hope. He clings to the idea that somehow it will work out, that he and Dorian will be together again. Or even if that never happens, he holds on to the hope that Dorian is maintaining silence out of necessity, not desire.

And there’s a life to be lived in the meantime. Bull still has the Chargers, after all, and the work picks up. No use moping about what he couldn’t change. 

So he keeps up a cheerful front, the shiny gloss of an easy smile and ready laugh. He even starts to think about having sex again. Bull hadn’t quite been able to get to that point yet. He and Dorian had agreed that monogamy under these circumstances is unworkable, so there’s nothing stopping him. Yeah, maybe that’ll be good. Maybe that widow who works in the kitchen. Bull recognizes that lonely look she’s got, that maybe she needs sympathetic touch, same as him. Plus her tits are fucking incredible. But there’s time for that. No need to rush. 

It all comes tumbling down though, five months after Dorian left. Bull’s playing chess with Cullen. It’s their first game in a few weeks; they’ve both been busy. Cullen's making some remark about Orlesian politics and the upcoming Exalted Council. “And of course Dorian's no help, can’t even give me a hint if Tevinter’s going to attend.”

The name paralyzes Bull for a second. “What?”

Cullen blinks rapidly, his gaze still trained on the board. “Ah. Well.” He clears his throat.

“Cullen.” Bull growls his name.

Cullen swallows hard but does not look up. “Something he mentioned in his last letter.”

“His  _ last _ letter?” Meaning there had been more than one. More than one letter to  _ Cullen.  _ Rage swallows Bull, cold and hot and sharp all at the same time. He rises to his feet as slow as he can, trying to contain himself. Flipping a table at your friend isn’t usually a good idea.

“Bull, wait, it’s not what you think,” Cullen protests, but the sound is already receding as Bull walks away.

There are some vague flashes of memory that he can recall later. Collecting his axe. Striding through the gates. Ignoring the confused sentries. And then Bull’s out in the open, where it’s safe. Where he can’t hurt anyone. 

He comes to an hour or so later in the midst of what had probably been a copse of trees. It looks like a small tornado hit, the clean cuts of his blade among the splintered wood the only clue that it was the work of a Qunari, not the weather. Bull’s covered in cuts, shallow stinging welts with bruises following fast. 

Fuck. He hasn’t lost control like that in a long time. Not since....

He doesn’t let himself complete the thought. Stupid. He could’ve hurt himself, and the Chargers still need him. All for what - jealousy? That Cullen got a few letters, probably little more than professional missives? 

Bull stops himself from going down that road. Because yeah, shit yeah, he’s fucking jealous. And underneath that is all the doubt and despair he’s been hiding with a smile these last few months. 

_ If Dorian could send letters to Cullen, he could send letters to me. And he didn’t. Nothing you can do about it. The tide rises, the tide falls. _

Not exactly the ending Bull had anticipated, but at least he doesn’t have to pretend at being hopeful any longer. Probably stupid of him to think all Dorian's talk about being inseparable meant something. Shit, the guy’s back in Tevinter - his home - surrounded by hot younger men, no doubt sucking up to him in more ways than one. It’s one thing for Bull to maintain Dorian's interest out here, in the fucking mountains where there’s not a lot of options. But Bull’s an aging, one-eyed brute. Of course they were never going to survive the separation.

Bull stops thinking about it before he can start to wonder if Dorian had even intended to try, or was simply planning on abandoning Bull all along. Definitely no point in going there. So Bull washes his hands of the whole thing. Back to normal. At least Bull’s gotten used to Dorian being gone. 

Bull avoids Cullen for a few days. He doesn’t blame the guy. But just because Bull is resigned to what happened doesn’t mean he wants to wallow. It’s fine, though. Bull’s just spent the afternoon sparring with Krem and Grim, and he’s tired in the perfect way. Looking forward to a nice bath, good dinner, couple drinks, maybe the widow will make an appearance. It’s the kind of day Bull loves. Everything’s fine. 

Though it is a bit surprising when Leliana finds him in the baths, a smirk playing around her lips. “I’m glad I found you in time.”

Bull’s lounging in a soaking tub. “Time for what?”

“You have a... visitor, of sorts. A courier. I wanted to find you before he did.”

Bull raises an eyebrow. “Not following, Red.”

Leliana gives a throaty chuckle, a sound Bull’s not sure he’s ever heard. “There may have been an incident, otherwise. I warned him you do not enjoy surprises. He insists that his instructions were quite strict. He’s in your quarters. Assuming you did not lock the door. He’s... not good with locks.” 

None of this makes sense. “Oooo...kay,” Bull hedges. “Long as you vouch for him, I guess.”

“Oh yes. A close personal friend, in fact. I shall leave you to your bath, Bull. Have a pleasant evening.” With a subdued bow, Leliana slinks off, hips swaying. 

Bull walks into his quarters a few minutes later. It’d been tempting to let this ‘courier’ stew in his juices for a bit, but Bull’s curiosity is running wild. There’s a lot of light coming from under the door; Bull guesses a couple dozen candles are lit. He hears the sound of wine being poured into a goblet. And there’s a scent that tugs on the edges of his awareness - leather, perhaps.

When the door opens fully, he gets an eyeful. There’s a blond elf draped sideways across the armchair, sipping wine. He’s in black leather from toe to fingertip, not to mention the black cloak hanging over the side of the chair, an oddly pointed cowl thrown back from his head.

“Ah! You arrive at last. I hope you do not mind, I took the liberty of providing myself with refreshment while I waited.” The elf raises his glass.

Not hard for Bull to put the pieces together, once he hears the Antivan accent. “Zevran, I take it?” 

“None other,” he says with a flourish. “And I must say, for all my hesitation to accept this commission, I believe it was a fantastic decision after all.” He looks Bull up and down with naked appreciation. 

“Yeah, what are you doing here, exactly? Red’s pretty certain you’re not trying to kill me.”

“This is true. You would already be dead, were that the case.” He says it with such confidence that Bull has to admire him a little. Zevran uncoils himself from the chair. “No, for now, I am a simple messenger. Though perhaps the message itself is not so simple.”

Bull sighs heavily. He’s not sure he wants to go through all of the guessing games. “You gonna get to the point eventually, or....?”

“Direct. I enjoy a man with this quality. I was hired to deliver three things. The first, is here.” He reaches behind the chair and pulls out a cloth knapsack, the size of a large pillowcase, stuffed to the brim. Zevran doesn’t hand it to Bull, but unties the knot on the drawstring and dumps the contents all over the bed.

It’s... envelopes. Hundreds of them. Bull catches a glimpse of the script on the nearest few and begins to shake.

“Go on, you may inspect them,” Zevran says, waving his hand flippantly.

Time seems to slow as Bull reaches for the first packet. “To my darling amatus” is written on the outside. It’s sealed with wax; Bull tears into it, his hands trembling almost uncontrollably. 

It’s a letter, dated six weeks past, addressed to Amatus, from Dorian. Bull scans it quickly, his eye bouncing across the familiar script. It’s... frankly quite dirty, and a knot of lust slithers through him. Bull looks to the heap of parchment on his bed and grabs another. This one contains a poem, undated. Another. Written on the boat, complaining of seasickness. Another, written four weeks ago, that simply says  _ I love you _ in several different languages.

The pile of envelopes is large; easily one for every day Dorian's been gone. Probably more.

It’s a good thing Zevran hasn’t been hired to kill Bull, because right now he is utterly defenseless. He’s shaking, his eye wide and watering, choking on laughs that sound like sobs.  _ How could you ever doubt him? He’s your kadan. How could you doubt your own heart? You worthless vashedan asshole. _

To buy himself time Bull gathers the letters from the bed, stacking them carefully, then tucking them into one of the chests that Dorian emptied when he left. There’s one hundred and sixty three letters all told. He’ll never have another instant of doubt as long as he lives.

When Bull is finished, Zevran clears his throat. “There is more. When you are ready.” His voice is respectful and quiet. 

Bull nods. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

From his cloak, Zevran pulls another envelope. “I believe you’re to read this.”

_ Amatus, _

_ I promise when we see each other again your name will be the first thing on my lips. It kills me, to not be able to call you by name, but it is a necessary evil.  _

_ As you can see, I’ve taken the liberty of writing you a few letters. Unfortunately I did not have the means to send them. Couriers have a habit of becoming waylaid, and none can be trusted to withhold names under duress. Luckily, this errant former Crow fell into my lap (literally, it’s a funny story which I will tell you later). He proved amenable to a slight vacation from his normal duties of killing people, though it took much persuading. In the end, it was the romance of our tale that convinced him, I think.  _

_ I hope you can see fit to forgive my bowing under the pressure of politics and expediency in withholding correspondence. I did consider sending you much-abridged messages, neutered of all emotion. But even that would put at risk all I have worked for. I cannot show the slightest weakness, or this house of cards will topple. Were it only my reputation on the line, I would never be so cowardly. However, there is a family here, the father a tailor by trade, that would suffer directly should certain connections be known.  _

_ I have left instructions with the courier to give the remainder of my message in person. I think you will enjoy the delivery as much as I enjoyed giving the instruction.  _

_ Always yours, forever, _

_ Dorian _

_ P.S. There is rumor of diplomatic overtures to Orlais. I will attempt to send word to you there if possible. There are many masks in the Grand Game, and perhaps I can use that to my advantage.  _

Bull reads it twice to make sure he’s got everything. Shit, he hadn’t thought about the Aclassi family. Of course Dorian's protecting them. Why would Dorian's enemies bother going after Bull all the way out here when they could take down Krem’s family right in Tevinter? That would be child’s play. 

“So, what’s the last message?” Bull asks, glancing up at Zevran.

He does a double take, because the elf’s removed a fair amount of clothing. Bull hadn’t heard it or sensed the motion, but Zevran’s only wearing his leather trousers. Damn, maybe he really  _ is  _ that good of an assassin.

Zevran grins, then clears his throat and begins to recite from memory. “Amatus. You’ll recall we made certain arrangements before my departure. I have not, alas, had much desire to follow through on these liberties, though I hope you have. The thought of having these experiences without sharing them with you is less appealing than I anticipated. Instead I have given very, very thorough instructions to this handsome and talented elf, to pass along certain affections which you might enjoy. Should you accept, I suggest you let him deliver the entire message without interference, as I planned it out quite thoroughly.” 

After a moment Bull realizes Zevran’s finished his speech. “Affections, huh?” Suddenly all the lust Bull’s been shunting to the side starts to boil in his gut. Zevran is incredibly fucking hot, after all. The tattoos snaking down his skin only serve to highlight how incredibly lithe he is, the muscles slender and graceful. 

Zevran smirked. “He was quite thorough. Demonstrated several times, in fact. To make sure I wouldn’t get it wrong.”

Bull exhales long and slow, the thought of Dorian tangled up with Zevran setting his veins on fire. “Was he? Well, he’s nothing if not meticulous.”

“I agree.” Zevran cocks an eyebrow and shifts his weight, as if he’s getting ready to start a foot race. “Would you like the remainder of the message now? I can wait until you are quite ready.”

With a laugh, Bull spreads his arms wide. “Think I’m ready. Go ahead.”

The need for the runner’s posture becomes evident as Zevran launches himself at Bull. It’s the kind of desperate sprint a lover would make after a long separation, rendered comical by the context. Bull’s already laughing when Zevran leaps up to grab his horns, simultaneously drawing Bull down for a kiss while wrapping his legs around Bull’s waist.

The kiss is marred by their laughter. Bull’s bubbling over with relief and joy -- maybe it’s contagious. Or maybe it’s that the whole thing is just so fucking ridiculous. Either way, it takes them a second to settle into it.

Once that point is reached, it takes no time at all for the kiss to go from amusingly awkward to scorchingly hot. Bull groans as Zevran sucks on his bottom lip, raking it with his teeth before releasing it with an audible ‘pop’. He’s grinding his hips against Bull’s stomach -- Bull can feel Zevran is straining against his leathers. 

Not that Bull’s in any different condition. He’s hard as fucking dawnstone, tenting his pants. The head of his cock is just nestled against the cleft of Zevran’s ass, and it feels incredible every time the elf moves his hips. Bull cradles Zevran’s ass in his palms, as much to support him as to feel the muscles bunching and releasing.

“Your lover was - ngh - very clear that I should lead you to the bed at this - ah - at this point,” Zevran pants. “I find I am not in a suitable position to do much in the way of - mmm - leading at the moment.”

Bull grunts a laugh and moves towards the bed. He sits, and Zevran disentangles himself, breaking the kiss last. He pushes one hand on the center of Bull’s chest.

It takes a second for the pressure to register. “You want me to lay back?” Bull offers.

“Please.” Zevran laughs. “I must say, this is quite a challenge, to follow a script so closely. Not at all how I would do things.” He smirks as he reaches for the drawstring to Bull’s trousers.

Bull’s guesses he might get a chance to find out exactly how Zevran would do things. Not to mention Bull having a couple ideas of his own. But for now, Bull’s more than content to lay back and let Zevran do whatever it is Dorian wants.

Zevran tugs Bull’s trousers from around his hips. He appraises Bull’s twitching cock. It appears to meet his approval, at least if the gleam in his eye is anything to go by. He twists around and somehow slips out of his pants without any of the normal tugging or awkwardness. 

_ Shit, he’s good. _ Bull upgrades that thought from good to fucking spectacular when Zevran swallows down on his cock. “Fuck!” Bull grunts, slamming his head into the headboard so hard the wood rattles. He bucks up into Zevran’s mouth; the elf doesn’t resist, though he wraps a fist around the base of Bull’s dick. 

“Sorry,” Bull groans. “Been a while.”

Zevran hums in amused acknowledgement. The vibration does nothing to make it easier for Bull to hold back. 

He wouldn’t bother, except that he’s guessing Dorian had more in store than a three minute blow job. So Bull keeps himself under control. 

It’s clear that Zevran isn’t finding this part a hardship. He’s making little sounds of enjoyment, and his own erection hasn’t flagged. Bull’s dying to get his hands on the elf. “Am I supposed to just lie here and take it?”

“Unless it is too much for you,” Zevran says, unwrapping his lips enough to allow speech. He meets Bull’s eye as he licks up the shaft. “Shall I move to the next part of the message?”

“Fuck yes,” Bull laughs. 

Zevran’s grin is positively devilish. He rears up to his knees, a vial of oil in his hand. 

Bull blinks. “Where did you get that?” 

Zevran throws his head back and gives a full-bodied belly laugh. “I see you have never met a proper assassin.”

“I thought I had.”

“I will concede that you share your bed with the best of the best. So perhaps I should grant you your surprise. If I might be allowed to continue?”

Bull’s almost as turned on by Zevran’s skill in stealth as in bed. “You got it,” Bull grins. “Just tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

Zevran dribbled a little oil onto Bull’s cock. “Nothing at all.” With one hand, he lazily stroked Bull, keeping him hard without getting too close to the edge. Zevran’s other hand reached around to prepare himself. 

Lots of people think they can pull this move off until they try it; it takes a fair amount of dexterity and balance. Bull grins to see that Zevran has zero difficulty with the maneuver, even managing to roll his hips in time with both hands, his own cock brushing against the juncture of Bull’s thigh.

“You are enjoying this, yes?” Zevran asks, the tiny hitch in his voice belying his own arousal.

“Don’t tell Dorian, but I think you’re better at this than he is.” 

“Oh? I found him to be most skilled.” Zevran grins like a desire demon.

“Fuuuuck,” Bull groans. “Don’t suppose you’re allowed to tell me about it.”

“Mmm, perhaps later. I would hate for this message to become corrupted, were I to detail the many, many ways I took your lover.” Zevran gave Bull’s cock an extra squeeze.

“Shit, you’re such a fucking tease.” Bull bucks into Zevran’s hand.

“I have been told so many times.” With that, Zevran shifts, moving himself to straddle Bull. He doesn’t ask permission, just watches Bull’s face as he lowers his ass onto Bull’s cock, just an inch or so.

“Holy shit.” Bull’s voice is a gasping squeal. He clenches the bedsheets in his hands. It’s been too long, and the inexorable slide of tight, slick heat is almost more than he can stand.

Zevran grins again and raises himself up. He applies more oil to himself and Bull and repeats the motion. This time he gets about halfway down. One more application of oil, and he sinks himself all the way, purring like a cat once he’s seated.

Bull concentrates on breathing for a moment, keeping his eye shut. Zevran is not a large person, and though it’s clear he’s comfortable enough taking Bull, it’s been a long long time since Bull’s fucked anyone this tight. He opens his eye and looks up at him.

Zevran’s lost the grin, and he’s breathing kinda heavy. His hips are rising and falling gently as he gets accustomed to Bull’s cock, his eyes half-closed. 

Bull finds his voice. “¿Estás bien?”

There’s a flutter of a smile when Zevran hears Bull speak Antivan. “Sí, sí. Ah! Qué rico, qué rico.” The last few words are a mumbled whisper.

Reassured, Bull lays back and enjoys it. It’s nothing whatsoever like fucking Dorian, but it’s still incredible. With Dorian there’s a sense of yielding, the mage giving himself over completely to Bull. Dorian loses himself in it, becomes pliant as he surrenders to the sensation and emotion. 

There is no sense of surrender with Zevran. It’s more like dancing, their bodies moving together towards a common end. Bull’s strangely grateful for that, glad for the distance that the choreography provides.

Damn, Bull is not gonna last. Zevran’s writhing on top of him, managing to roll his hips as he bounces up and down. Bull tilts his hips and Zevran’s eyes go wide, his mouth open in a silent moan. Bull can feel the shudder that wracks through him.

“That’s the spot, eh?” Bull smirks.

Zevran blinks rapidly and nods. He picks up the pace, chasing the sensation of Bull’s dick against his prostate. His hand comes down to stroke himself. 

“Hope there’s not a lot more to this message,” Bull warns. “If there is, you better stop now.”

Zevran shakes his head. “No, no más,” he gasps. “Quiero -ngh- quiero que me cojas. Duro, duro.”

Bull grabs Zevran’s hips, holding them steady. He pistons his cock as hard as he can, Zevran’s hand pumping fast. The first few drops of come splatter on Bull’s stomach as Zevran moans wordlessly.

The clenching of the elf’s already tight ass sends Bull over the edge and he slams himself home, grunting with each thrust.

Bull’s still feeling the aftershocks as Zevran rolls off him and makes his way to the washbasin. After a few moments behind the privacy screen, he comes back with a damp cloth for Bull. 

“So,” Zevran says, hands on his hips. “I believe I have delivered my message to your satisfaction, yes?”

Bull laughs, dragging the cloth across his stomach. “I’d say so, yeah.”

Zevran sighs happily. “Good. I don’t suppose you could find it in yourself to help me procure a meal and a place to sleep for the night? Leliana indicated both would be available.” 

Bull sits up. “Well I’d say you could stay here, but you don’t look like you’re angling for an invitation.”

With a tilt of his head, Zevran acknowledges the point. “An astute observation. So often I find myself having to turn down disappointed lovers. But I would not be much of an assassin if I became too comfortable sleeping with casual dalliances. Though,” he adds, “I would, perhaps, enjoy another brief stay such as this. I plan to be in Skyhold for some days.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

They get dressed and Bull gives him a bit of a tour, ending in the dining hall. Zevran is effortlessly charming, kissing Josephine’s hand with a few murmured phrases in Antivan, bowing gracefully to the Inquisitor, making Cullen blush to his roots with a handshake and eye contact. 

Bull watches it all as he loads up his plate and sits next to Leliana. “You sent him to Tevinter,” he says quietly.

Leliana allows half a smile. “Perhaps. I told you I would find a way to open communication, Bull. You should have more faith.”

Bull snorts. “Thanks, Red.”

“My pleasure, Bull.” She pauses and takes a sip of water. “Also I had him take out five Venatori sleeper cells.”

Bull knows better than to laugh, but he does smile for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zevran saves the day! :) Also any notes on the Spanish are welcome.


	25. Before My Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull and the Chargers arrive for the Exalted Council. The Tevinter Ambassador is already there.

The Chargers round the crest of a hill, the flawless landscape stretched out below them in the valley. In the center sits Halamshiral, gleaming like a stolen jewel. “Back again,” Bull sighs. “Thing about this place is, Krem de la Krem,” Bull turns his head to his lieutenant, “it’s not Orlais I don’t like, it’s -”

“The Orlesians,” the Chargers call out in weary unison.

Bull frowns. “Guess it’s time to retire that line, huh.”

The ruined joke does nothing to dampen Bull’s spirits. This might be the only time he’s ever looked forward to extended exposure to these mask-lickers. Dorian had promised he’d try and send another message. If the last one was anything to go by, Bull was in for something memorable. 

He’d been tempted to hire Zevran to send another ‘message’ back to Dorian in Tevinter, but the elf was an assassin, not a courier. Bull couldn’t in all good conscience hire him out from under the people who no doubt needed his services. If Zevran had offered, that would have been different. But he didn’t, so Bull was hoping that whatever method of communication Dorian might send would at least have the possibility of being returned. 

Bull had even prepared some gifts. He’d dragged Cole all over Skyhold, making the spirit point out all the places Dorian had been happiest. Rocky had been pressed into doing sketches; the dwarf had become quite talented, thanks to decades of drawing scaled blueprints of all the places he’d blown up. Nestled in Bull’s pack were sketches of their bedroom, Dorian's alcove in the library, the table in the garden where he played chess with Cullen, the view of the mountains, and, Bull’s favorite, the practice ring as seen from the window of Dorian's alcove. Bull and Krem had actually posed for that, standing at battle ready for what seemed like hours as Rocky yelled down at them not to move. 

They’re arriving a couple days ahead of the main Inquisition retinue. They’d been on a job, taking care of some giants in along the border of the Arbor Wilds, so there hadn’t been any point in going back to Skyhold first. Probably no real reason for the Chargers to go to the Exalted Council at all, but Evelyn wants them there, and that's good enough. 

They trundle into Halamshiral around lunchtime. It’s a sea of masks and frilly outfits. Orlais never changes. 

The inn outside the palace gates has rooms ready for them. Evelyn and the others will be staying in the palace proper, but common mercs have to know their place. Fine with Bull. He’ll take a smoky tavern room with hay mattresses over a palace any day of the week. 

The Chargers scatter, off to shop or get their weapons and armor looked at. Bull settles in the bar for a bit to people watch, get the lay of the land. Things seem tense, in a way that sets Bull’s teeth on edge. 

“Well! Look who the cat dragged in.” 

Bull’s head jerks up at the voice. “Sera!”

Sera scampers over and punches him in the arm affectionately. “Hello, you. Here with your boys, then?”

“Yeah, we just got in. You?”

“Been pokin’ about. Y’know.” Sera shrugs and hops up on the table, kicking her feet. “Sumthin’s not right though. You feel it?”

“Yeah,” Bull sighs, setting himself back down. “It’s like the calm before the storm.”

“Don’t like it,” Sera noted. “Not one bit.”

“Yeah, well at least -” Bull doesn’t get a chance to finish before Krem comes sprinting up, running so hard he skids to a stop. 

“Chief! Chief, he’s here,” Krem pants, doubling over with his hands on his knees. “H’llo,” he nods at Sera.

“Who’s here?” Bull frowns.

“Your  _ kadan,” _ Krem says, laughing a bit. 

“WHAT?” Bull jumps to his feet. “You sure?”

“Chief, I know what I heard. Tevinter accent in the market. ‘For the Ambassador, Magister Pavus’. Heard it clear as day.”

“He’s not a magister,” Sera points out.

“Well it sure as shit isn’t for his father,” Krem says. “Unless he’s suddenly taken an interest in poncy moustache wax.”

Conscious thought ceases to function. “Krem! With me,” Bull barks as he strides out of the tavern.

“Gotta see this.” Sera follows along.

Bull barges past the main sentries at the gates, literally bowling the guards over. Krem and Sera are flashing the Inquisition insignia as Bull storms up to the Steward. 

“I have business in the Ambassadorial wing,” Bull growls, not slowing his stride. 

“I beg your pardon?” The steward stumbles to follow. “Monsieur, I assure you, you cannot simply waltz into the -”

“Oh shut it, we’re allowed,” Sera mutters at him. “Inquisition. You blind or sumthin’?” She waggles her badge in his face.

“This is highly irregular. I shall lodge a complaint.”

“You do that,” Krem snickers.

Bull barely hears it. He reaches the junction of a corridor and takes a deep breath. Holy fuck. Holy fuck, he smells it. Dorian's bath oil. Faint, but it’s there, coming from the left. Bull begins to jog down the hallway.

His heartbeat is so loud in his ears that he almost doesn’t hear the muffled sound of a man castigating a servant. “Vishante kaffas, I said  _ myrrh _ and embrium, not dawn lotus and embrium. This will make me swell up like a balloon.”

Bull stops at the door. He doesn’t even think, he just opens it without knocking.

An unfamiliar man shouts “Qunari!” in a heavily accented voice. Bull feels the lightning curl around his chest as he steps on a ward and he roars in frustration, tumbling to one knee. It’s not a strong jolt, only intended to stun, but it hurts like a motherfucker.

Krem and Sera turn their weapons on the startled manservant as he attempts to draw a decorative shortsword on his hip. 

Through the haze of pain, Bull sees a familiar silhouette backlit at the end of the corridor. 

“Bull? Bull is that -?” Dorian shimmers into view. He’s barefoot, wearing a dressing gown and loose silk trousers. With a gesture, he disables his ward.

The pain ceases. “Dorian.” Bull rises heavily to his feet. 

The manservant makes a weak attempt at defense, though the blade at his throat and arrow at his forehead prove a deterrent. In any event, Dorian waves him down as he takes tentative steps towards Bull. “But - the Inquisition is days away - I sent word - what are you -”

“Came a little early, kadan,” Bull says, somehow hesitant.

Dorian blinks several times, his face full of wonder. Then a devilish spark lights in his eyes. “First time for everything.” 

“Eugh,” Sera groans. “Come on, Krem. Leave these two idiots.” She lowers her bow.

Krem sheaths his sword and nods. “Know where I’m not needed.”

The manservant fidgets. “Er, Lord Pavus?”

Dorian doesn’t even glance at the man, his eyes fixed on Bull’s face. “Take the afternoon off. The evening as well. In fact don’t come back till morning. Have someone send food later.” Dorian waves vaguely, taking another step closer.

“Krem, show him a good time,” Bull says. “Give him my room.”

Krem sighs and leads the confused servant out. “Come on. You from Minrathous? First time in Orlais? I’ll show you where to find the decent wine.”

The door closes. Dorian reaches up and caresses Bull’s cheek. “Amatus.”

“You’re... how are you here?” Bull feels like he’s coming apart at the seams, like his happiness is too big for his body. 

“I’m the Ambassador,” Dorian says with a breathless laugh. “Bull, why are we still talking?”

“Fucked if I know.” 

“I think that's my line.”

It’s gentle, their first kiss. Not desperate, not frantic. Bull’s still afraid that Dorian's going to somehow disappear. So he just brushes his lips against Dorian's, groaning almost inaudibly. 

Dorian’s too-sharp inhale registers on Bull’s awareness a half-second after he realizes the mage’s lips are trembling too much. Then Bull tastes salt. Dorian's crying.

“I thought I’d have some time to prepare,” Dorian laughs, dashing the errant tears away. “I had a whole scene planned, throwing the palace doors open, dressed in my finery.” He presses himself into Bull’s chest, wrapping his arms as far as as he can.

“I... shit, kadan, I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to see you again,” he confesses. “Kadan. Kadan, you’re here. You’re here,” Bull babbles.

“I am, and somehow we’re still talking. I thought we were going to do something about that.”

Bull hunkers down and lifts Dorian by the waist. Dorian slings his arms around Bull’s neck, pressing kisses into his collarbone. He carries the mage to the fainting couch in the corner.

Bull lowers Dorian, maintaining as much contact as he can. Dorian's propped up on a pile of cushions, Bull kneeling on the floor in between his legs. The dressing gown and trousers are removed gently, slowly, until Dorian's exposed. His breath is coming fast and he draws one leg up, almost as if to hide himself.

It hits Bull: Dorian hasn’t shaved. At Skyhold, Dorian kept himself largely bare from neck to knee, but now there’s hair scattered across his chest, and a dark trail leading from his navel down to a thatch where his still-soft cock meets his body. 

Dorian squirms. “I... wasn’t expecting you. I thought I’d have time. I... if you’d rather -”

Bull doesn’t let him finish the thought, lunging down to bury his nose in the hair. He breathes deep, nuzzling and licking. “Mmmm, you smell so good. Fuck.” Bull presses his nose further down, nudging Dorian's thighs apart.

“You... like it?” Dorian rears up to his elbows in confusion.

“Missed your smell so much, kadan.” Bull growls in hunger, his tongue becoming bolder, snaking down Dorian's perineum. 

With a gasp, Dorian flops back to the couch. “Had I known, amatus, I would’ve stopped ages ago.” His cock is rapidly coming to attention, so Bull swipes at it with his tongue. Dorian exhales sharply, his hand idly coming down to stroke Bull’s horn.

Bull groans as he sucks one of Dorian's balls into his mouth. Dorian's smell becomes warmer, spicy with arousal. Settling his weight on the bed, Bull pushes Dorian's thighs up, spreading them. He fairly attacks Dorian's entrance with his tongue.

Bull is rewarded with a loud moan and a new smell: bitter and sweet at the same time, as a large drop puddles at the head of Dorian's cock. Tempting to lick it away, but Bull keeps his tongue trained on Dorian's hole. 

The grip on his horns gets stronger as Dorian's entrance begins to relax. Bull groans and pushes his tongue inside. 

Dorian's gasping, his hands twisting on Bull’s horns. “Bull -  _ Bull! _ I’m not going to last -mmph- if you keep that up.” He curls back up to his elbows to look at Bull.

It’s meant as a warning, but Bull doesn’t relent. Staring up at Dorian, Bull eases up a little, but only to let go of one of his legs so he has access to Dorian's cock. He smears the precome along Dorian's crown and frenulum, not even stroking, just rubbing firm circles into the flesh.

“Bull! Fasta vass, I’m - ungh - I’m going to -” Dorian devolves into shuddering moans, the shivering in his thighs doing a better job of finishing the thought than his words. A moment later he comes, rhythmic spurts striping his chest, until he’s twitching against his subsiding whimpers.

Bull kisses and licks the droplets from his skin, working his way up Dorian's body. Dorian's eyes are wide and dark; he’s shivering and laughing weakly. “I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to hold out longer. I’ve been dreaming of you since I left.” He reaches up and draws the heel of his palm along Bull’s jawline. “Let me take care of you?” His other hand ventures down, grasping Bull’s cock through the fabric of his trousers.

Probably there’s a better way to respond than nodding while gulping breath, but that's all Bull’s got at the moment. The feel of Dorian's hand is too much to take in for him to form words just yet.

Dorian pushes him to stand, and makes quick work of Bull’s belt and pants. Thank fuck he hadn’t changed into more complicated armor; Bull’s already leaking and painfully hard.

With a glittering glance upward, Dorian grasps the base of Bull’s cock, then sticks out his tongue and licks, wide and flat, like he’s eating the frosting off a small cake.

Bull throws his head back and roars, fighting the urge to fuck Dorian's face. When he looks down again, Dorian's eyes are smiling and affectionate. He leaves off teasing and sucks the head into his mouth, swirling his hand around the shaft. 

The thing that gets Bull is that it’s not the world’s most technically perfect blowjob, nor is it gonna win any extra points for difficulty or finesse. Just the feeling of his kadan’s mouth and hand, same as he’d had probably hundreds of times while they were together at Skyhold. And that's the thing that has Bull’s chest full of warmth: it’s familiar. Something his body had become accustomed to - craved, even - not because it was so spectacular, but because it was so commonplace and loving. 

Bull’s orgasm washes over him, leaving him breathless, his hands gently reverent on Dorian's hair. 

He looks down. Dorian's looking up at him, grinning, his hands on Bull’s thighs. “Hello.”

Bull laughs. “Hello.” He shoves Dorian back on to the couch, leaning down to kiss him, light and sweet. “I missed you.”

“I missed you,” Dorian says. “I thought I would die from it.”

“Really?” Bull raises an eyebrow.

“Well maybe not  _ actually perish, _ but I thought my heart would break.” 

Bull almost tells him: mine did. But now’s not the time for broken heart tales. “Know what you mean.” He kisses Dorian again, long and slow this time, now that the initial hunger’s been sated.

After... shit, who knows, a few minutes? A lifetime? Bull pulls back. “So, trying to think of a good way to ask this, but, what are you doing here?”

Dorian blinks, then starts to laugh. “I’m the Tevinter Ambassador. I was beginning to cause some issues behind the scenes, so the Archon gave me an official position, one I couldn’t turn down. I think they’re hoping I might get killed.”

“Krem said he heard your lackey say Magister Pavus,” Bull points out. He stands, putting a hand to his lower back. He stretches.

“Oh. That.” Dorian takes a deep breath. He sits up, swinging his legs around to rest on the floor. “Yes, well. My father died. Quite recently, in fact - just before I left. Apparently he wasn’t successful in finding a sycophant to fill my shoes, because he named me his heir.” The bitterness in his voice can’t hide the deep sadness. 

Bull grunts, a sympathetic noise. “How’s your mother?”

Dorian's staring at his knees, but a jolt goes through his posture. “What?”

“Your mother? She alright?” Bull shrugs. “Dunno, just figured, maybe it’d be tough for her.”

Dorian raises his head. His lips twist. “Do you know, you’re the first to ask me that? Everyone else has offered me congratulations or false sympathy.” He shakes his head. “I have no idea how she is. I should... pay her a visit, I suppose. When I get back.”

Something in Bull’s stomach twists when Dorian mentions going back to Tevinter. Bull forces his face to stay calm, reminding himself that he never expected to see Dorian here at all; he shouldn’t hope for more than he’s got right now. 

Before he can say anything, Dorian stands. “Enough of that. I was about to bathe before you barged in. Would you care to join me? We’ll have to trade - I’m afraid the tub’s not big enough for us both.” He holds out his hand.

Bull takes it. “Sounds good, kadan.” 

It’s funny. Within the space of a quarter hour, Dorian's happily soaking in the tub, chatting away as if they hadn’t been parted for a year. Bull sits beside the basin, helping to wash Dorian's back, listening to the gossip, laughing and joining in. But over top of it all his mind is full of  _ Dorian Dorian Dorian,  _ as if his name was music that Bull couldn’t get out of his head.

“Are you even listening to me?” Dorian squawks at one point.

“Tyronus was planning to poison the wine for Simone’s banquet but he put soap flakes in it by accident and it turned into a bubble fight.” Bull parrots back the last thing Dorian says without hesitation.

Dorian narrows his eyes, fighting back a smile. “Is that a Ben-Hassrath trick?”

Bull tilts his head back and forth. “Maybe,” he grins. “Can’t blame me for being distracted, you all wet and naked and... and here.” It still seems unbelievable.

Reaching out, Dorian runs the tips of his fingers across the edge of Bull’s ear. For a moment he just smiles. “That reminds me. I have something for you. For us. And if I stay submerged any longer I shall turn into a prune.” He rises, water streaming off him in rivulets. “Take my place while I fetch things. You’ve got road dust simply everywhere.” 

It’s true - there’s grit in places where grit shouldn’t be. So when Dorian towels off and pads out of the room, Bull steps in the tub and gives himself a quick wipedown. Not perfect, but refreshing. He doesn’t bother to get dressed again, hanging up his trousers by the window to air out. 

There’s a silk cloak thing in one of the wardrobes. Bull shrugs and knots it into a kind of short kilt, then settles back on a nearby chaise, helping himself to a glass of golden wine. 

Dorian comes back in with a small box. He glances at the trousers and shakes his head, but makes no mention. He sits next to Bull, his hands resting on top of the box.

“This year has been... difficult. When I left Skyhold, I thought... well, I didn’t think. I didn’t know. How hard it would be, you see. I knew I would miss you, but....” He shakes his head again, but this time it’s not out of amusement, but to banish a bad memory, the motion sharp. “It hurt. Did you know it was going to hurt?”

“No,” Bull admits. Might as well get it out in the open. “I... kinda lost hope for a while. When there were no letters, and then Cullen was hearing from you and I wasn’t --”

“What?” Dorian rolls his eyes. “Those weren’t  _ letters,  _ they were Inquisition missives. Not like I was sending personal notes.”

Bull shrugs. “Well I know that  _ now. _ At the time I just... I dunno. Thought you’d... y’know.” He shrugs again.

“Thought I’d what?” Dorian frowns.

With a grunt, Bull forces the words out. “Found someone better. Hotter, and younger, and less, y’know, ox-y. Someone who could actually be  _ with _ you.”

The look Dorian gives him is difficult to parse. “Bull. Amatus.” He sighs. “Who knew you were such an insecure ninny?” He tries to keep his face straight but his moustache twitches in amusement.

Bull snorts, pulling him in for a kiss. “Show  _ you _ ninny.”

The kiss goes on for a long time, and finally Dorian pulls away. “Bull, I’ll never be able to -- give you this -- if we keep -- getting -- distracted.” Seeing as Dorian peppers his remark with a series of hungry little smooches, it’s hardly fair. 

“Okay okay,” Bull grumbles.

Dorian lifts the lid on the box. Inside are two jeweled ear cuffs. Dorian holds out the larger cuff, fashioned with a pointed tip. “See if it fits. I don’t want it falling off.”

Bull slides it into place. “Seems fine,” he says, shaking his head back and forth. “What are these, kadan? Some kind of Tevinter thing?”

“Well they’re fashionable, but no,” Dorian says, slipping the cuff onto his own ear. “They’re Dwarven sending crystals. I got the idea from Dagna, but it took me a long time to track one down.” Dorian smiles. “Care to test it?”

“I guess? What do they send?” Bull’s not sure he likes having magic crap hanging from his ear. 

“Stay there, and I’ll show you.” With a smile, Dorian leaves the room. 

A moment later, the cuff grows noticeably warm. Bull rubs it, wondering if he should take it off.

“Can you hear me, Amatus?” 

Bull almost jumps out of his skin when Dorian's voice sounds out of nowhere. “Uh, yeah, I can hear you,” he says in reply, trying to keep his voice at a normal level. 

Dorian comes back in a moment later. He’s beaming. “Well, what do you think?”

Bull blinks. “We... can talk with these?” 

“Er, yes. That's rather the idea.” Dorian's smile slips a bit.

“How far?” Bull blurts, his stomach twisting with hope, not bothering to shape the thought into something more coherent.

Dorian's smile slips further, and he swallows hard. “There’s no distance limitation that I’m aware of. With these, we should be able to speak wherever we are. You... don’t have to accept, Bull. I know it’s not been easy, and I don’t want you to feel obligated, so think about -”

Dorian’s sentence gets cut off as Bull lunges up and kisses him. This, now, at last, is desperate, not from hunger, but gratitude. Bull’s hands are cradling Dorian's head as he presses shivering nibbles into his lips. 

Bull tastes salt again, but this time he’s the culprit. Dorian pulls away, wiping the track of wetness from Bull’s cheek.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Bull mutters. “Just... we can really talk? Whenever?”

Dorian's eyes are getting shiny. “Yes, my love.”

It’s almost too much to take in. “Fuck, kadan. I love you so much, but it was so hard and now... I just....” He shakes his head, digging the heel of his palm into his good eye, like that can stop the tears. 

“So you’ll take it?” Dorian asks. “You don’t have to. If you don’t want to use it, I’ll understand.”

“You fucking kidding me? Yes, Dorian, yes, I’ll take it, I’ll use it every day.” Bull sniffles.

Dorian's smile tentatively returns. “I... wasn’t sure if you’d still want to... try to keep this going. I’ve spent weeks arguing with myself, trying to decide what would be worse - having you refuse to take it, or having you take it and then not use it.”

It occurs to Bull that Dorian hadn’t gotten any letters either. That he’d been stuck in a nest of vipers for a year, with practically no friends or people he could trust. Shit, Bull thought he had it hard, and he’s been fucking lounging around Skyhold with his boys and his friends. He sinks back on the chaise, pulling Dorian down with him. “Thought about you every day, kadan. I’ll keep this going as long as you want.”

Dorian's curled up next to him, his head on Bull’s chest. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Not gonna lose me, Dorian.”

Dorian nods. “Promise me that if you ever change your mind, you’ll - you’ll tell me.”

“I’m not gonna change my mind. But if something happens, I will never leave you hanging, kadan. Okay?”

Another nod. “Thank you.”

They lay for a few minutes, Bull rubbing circles into Dorian's back. The breeze through the patio doors is cool, rustling the curtains and the leaves on the fruit trees in the courtyard below. It’s as perfect of a moment than Bull’s had in a year.

“What are you thinking?” Dorian asks.

“Whether they have any more of those spicy nuts like we had at the ball. Damn, those were good,” Bull says.

Dorian pushes himself off Bull, an incredulous look on his face. “Reunited with your lover after a year, and that's what you’re thinking about? Snacks?” 

Bull shrugs one shoulder. “All this crying makes me hungry.”

Dorian sighs. “They’re in the bowl on the drinks cart, in the parlor,” he says, laying back down. “And while you’re up, fetch me a glass of wine. And some dried figs. And don’t you dare eat all the nuts - they have to last until dinner.”

Bull grins. “You got it, kadan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, this fic has officially gone way, way longer than I expected, and I've run out of chapter titles. So I switched to the Body Canto for these last five or so chapters. Also, I'll be playing a tiny bit fast and loose with canon. Not that I haven't been all along. :D


	26. A Faint and Flickering Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian recounts how he met Zevran. Bull realizes he might be losing his touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, you know how sometimes when I write something smutty, it's in service to the plot? Yeah, this is not that. This is just pure smutty smut smut between the two thinnest plot bookends I could get away with. Enjoy?

It’s later that evening, just after sunset. Bull answers the knock on the door, clutching a robe around his waist with one hand. Dorian's in the bedroom, recovering from a long, slow fuck that had them both shuddering by the end. 

There’s a elf servant pushing a cart with a couple covered trays of food and bottles of wine. He looks startled to see Bull, blinking in confusion. 

“Mmm, good timing,” Bull says, trying to put the guy at ease. Something about the way he’s staring dings a distant alarm bell in Bull’s mind, but hunger and happiness are drowning it out. “I’ll wheel it back. The Ambassador is indisposed.” Bull gives a broad wink.

The servant hesitates, not letting go of the cart.

Bull sighs. “Look. If I was here to kill him, he’s either already dead or on his way, right? In either case, not like you’re gonna stop me. Might as well not get in the way of my dinner, too.”

The servant stares hard at Bull. His eyes dart past into the empty corridor.

As if on cue, Dorian stomps out, hastily tying on his dressing gown, which barely covers his ass. “What the devil’s taking so long?”

The servant looks back at Bull and nods, letting go of the cart. “A pleasant evening be yours.” 

Dorian walks up behind Bull as the door closes. “What was that about?”

Bull squints, tilting his head. Something seems off about the encounter. “Not sure.”

“Maybe he’s never seen a Qunari before,” Dorian says, lifting the lid. “Come on, I’m starving.”

“Me too,” Bull says, dropping the thought. “We worked up quite an appetite.”

They eat at a little table on the balcony, watching as the sunset drenches the palace in pink gold. Dorian's servant ordered enough food for about a half-dozen humans, which is to say, just enough for Bull and Dorian. Maybe Krem gave him a hint. Must’ve, because the bottom shelf of the cart contains a dozen little iced cakes. 

Bull polishes off nine of them as Dorian sips a tiny glass of port after the meal. “This is rather a decent vintage,” he says, twisting the glass in his hands.

“Never a fan of port. Too sticky.” Bull licks the icing off his fingers with no trace of irony. “Oh, been meaning to ask - what was the deal with Zevran? Said he fell into your lap?”

With a throaty chuckle, Dorian set his glass down. “He did. I was at a salon -- an underground, after hours affair for like-minded souls. Purely to gain potential contacts, of course.”

Bull snorts. “Of course.”

Dorian's moustache twitches, but he continues the story. “Anyway, Zevran was there. Someone must’ve vouched for him. He was quite the center of attention, as you might imagine.” 

“Not even a little surprised.”

Leaning forward, Dorian refills his glass. “I kept my distance. The last thing I needed was to lower my guard, especially around someone who was clearly not all he appeared. But he was bound and determined. I resisted the come-hither glances easily enough. And turned down the drink he sent over. Towards the end of the evening, he made a show of falling into my lap as I sat, knocking drinks everywhere and causing a ruckus.” Dorian shakes his head and sips his port. “In the midst of the chaos, he managed to murmur Leliana’s passphrase into my ear.”

“What’d you do?” Bull gets up and pours himself a glass of brandy, leaning on the balcony railing.

“I thought he had information, so I invited him to chat privately.” 

Bull smirks. “That what they’re calling it these days?” He dodges the olive pit Dorian throws at him.

“I assure you, my intention was entirely honorable.”

“Yeah? What happened?” Bull grins, because he’s pretty sure he knows what happened.

Dorian stands. “I do find I’m getting a slight chill. Perhaps we should go back inside?” He cocks his head at Bull, leading them back into the suite.

Bull follows him back to the bedroom, settling on the bed, resting his back on the padded headboard while Dorian draws the curtains closed and lights the candles. 

When he’s done, Dorian clambers into Bull’s lap. He’s got his back against Bull’s chest and he sighs contentedly. “I missed this.”

“Me too, kadan,” Bull says, planting a kiss on his hair. “I do believe you were in the middle of a story, though.”

“I was,” Dorian admits. He pauses to collect his thoughts. “Regardless of what you may think, when I brought Zevran back to my rooms, romance was not on my mind.” He strokes his hand up and down Bull’s arm. “Like I wrote in my letter - I found myself lacking the urge for sex. Although, I suppose that's not entirely accurate. It wasn’t the urge that I was missing.”

“I get it,” Bull says. 

“Do you?” Dorian twists around to look up at him.

“Yeah. What, you think as soon as you were out of the picture I just started fucking people right and left?” Bull puts a hefty amount of amusement into his voice.

“Well, when you put it like  _ that,” _ Dorian huffs, turning back around. 

Bull wraps his arms around Dorian's chest. “Like you said. I was horny as all fuck, but... knew that first one would be rough. That I’d just be thinking of you the whole time. And it wouldn’t be fair to whoever I was with. So I put it off.”

With a sigh, Dorian relaxes further. “You’re a better person than I am, amatus. I’m afraid I didn’t think of the other person at all, only how hard it would be for me.”

“Nice of Zevran to help you past it,” Bull says.

“He told me Leliana had hired him as a courier for me specifically. He simply poured the charm on. I think he was rather confused when I turned him down. Then I showed him the letters. I... might have gotten a bit emotional.”

“No,” Bull scoffs.

Dorian slaps his forearm. “Do you want the story or not?”

“Sorry, kadan.”

“Well. I think he was rather touched. And then to find out you were a Qunari... what were his words, exactly? ‘You do not go in for the halfway measures concerning romance, I see. Perhaps I could send a more personal message on your behalf.’ At first I thought he meant something verbal, without the risk of interception.”

“Oh, it got verbal, all right.” 

Dorian gives a little purr and squirms against him. “Did it?”

“Mmm, yeah it did.” Bull thrums a finger against one of Dorian's nipples, making the mage twitch and gasp. “Maybe you should tell me a little more about how you decided what to do.”

Inhaling sharply, Dorian gives a shaky nod. “I said that would be useful, but that I’d need time to compose such a message. I was still thinking something for him to memorize, you see. And he said, ‘Perhaps I could assist you. I have many ideas.’ And he - and he....” Dorian groans as Bull’s other hand comes up to circle his throat - not to apply any pressure, just to hold him.

“What did he do, kadan?” Bull leans down and nips at the top of Dorian's ear.

“Nngh, he took my hand. I was... quite shocked at his boldness. I thought he meant to kiss my fingers, but he - he....” Dorian's eyes flutter closed. “He sucked them. He sucked my fingers, his tongue was so hot and wet, Bull.”

“Yeah? Did it get you hard?”

Dorian nods. “It felt so good. So good. I started to - to shake. So he stopped and grabbed me by the waist. ‘Do you desire my help in this?’ he asked. My mind was blank - I think I nodded. ‘The first thing will be to get into the proper frame of mind to craft such a message. Perhaps we should start there.’”

Bull laughs silently. As turned on as he is, it’s easy to imagine Zevran saying such a thing. “How considerate of him.”

Dorian gave a breathless chuckle. “Yes. Shall I tell you what he did?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“He got very close, so I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips on my skin. And then he whispered. ‘I sense you are overwhelmed, yes?’ I nodded. I still hadn’t so much as touched him of my own volition, you see. He offered to come back the next day. I said, no, no I want you to stay. I started babbling some apology but he put his hand over my mouth. ‘Perhaps you desire for me to take the lead? I can be  _ quite _ assertive.’”

“Oh, fuck,” Bull growls. He shifts so that his hardening dick has some room to grow between their bodies. “You say yes to him, kadan? You let him take control?”

“I did,” Dorian confirms. “I told him my watchword, and not to leave any marks. I think he knew then that I was serious about it. He laughed, like I’d just given him a present.”

Bull reaches around and drags one hand up the inside of Dorian's thigh, scratching the sensitive skin. “Go on.”

“He made me take off my clothes,” Dorian whispers. “Walked around me, looking, but not touching. Said that under different circumstances, he’d take his time, make me beg and scream for hours. But he’d been watching me all night, and he was tired of waiting. ‘So I’m going to fuck you. Hard, my friend. I shall still make you beg and scream, have no doubt.’” While Dorian speaks, he grinds his hips against Bull’s cock.

Bull’s breath is starting to catch in his throat. His hand drifts up to Dorian's dick. He slides his palm against it, providing some friction against the rocking motion of Dorian's hips. “And did he?”

“Oh yes,” Dorian says with a shiver. “He opened me with his fingers, then fucked me, oh Bull, he fucked me so hard.” 

Bull growls. “Need you, kadan,” he mutters. “I gotta have you again.”

There’s a moment of chaos as Dorian pulls off his dressing gown and Bull retrieves the bottle of oil from the bedside table. And then Dorian is kneeling over Bull’s lap, letting Bull curl his fingers up inside his ass. It doesn’t take much - Dorian's body is still primed from fucking Bull earlier in the afternoon. He lowers himself on Bull’s cock with a gurgling moan.

Bull grips Dorian's hips steady, working himself in and out. “Keep talking, kadan. Tell me how he fucked you.”

“Nngh - he - shoved me facedown,” Dorian pants. “Pulled my arms behind my back and bent me over the bed. He - ah! Oh! Bull yes please right there right there.” Dorian's head hangs loose on his neck.

“Yeah? You like that? Better keep talking.” It’s an empty threat; Bull’s not gonna stop fucking him now. It feels too good.

“Yes I like it. Oh Bull I like it. You want to - hear how he slid his cock in me? Just - oh fuck - he just gave it to me, didn’t wait, just moaned and thrust, hard.” Dorian squeezes his own cock, giving it a few strokes.

“Did it hurt, baby? Getting fucked so hard?” 

“Yes, Bull. Yes, it hurt, it hurt but it felt so good. And then he - he spanked me.”

“Oh shit,” Bull grunts. He allows himself two hard thrusts before he eases up, just rocking into Dorian. He’s already fucking close, but there is no way in hell he’s gonna finish before he hears the rest of the story. 

Dorian's moaning and trying to shove himself down on Bull’s cock. “Please, Bull,” he gasps. “More please, I want more.”

“You get more when I decide to give it to you,” Bull says, pitching his voice low. Dorian shivers and nods and  _ fuck _ is it hot. “Tell me the rest.”

“He - he spanked me and I started - mmm- making noise. He let go of my arms, then pulled me up by the hair. He said he changed his mind about fucking me. Since I liked getting spanked so much. I pleaded with him not to stop. He just laughed and said I begged like I was born to it. He pushed me back down and kept - ngh - fucking me Bull please, please, I’m so close.”

“No, baby. You finish your story, be good for me. Finish your story and I’ll make you feel so good.”

Dorian shudders, gritting his teeth. “He wouldn’t let me touch myself. So hard, Bull, he gave it to me and - ungh - kept spanking me over and over and - Bull please. Please please please?”

“Tell me how you came, kadan. Tell me how he made you come.” Bull’s pulled almost all the way out now, holding Dorian up so just the tip of his cock is teasing Dorian's hole. 

“He pulled me back up. Told me - fuck - told me he wanted to feel me come. He - he reached around and I thought he was going to stroke me. But he,” Dorian gasps for air like he’s drowning. “He touched my - my balls and - fuck, Bull. He pet them and when I moaned he - flicked his fingers, just a little spank and shit, shit, Bull, I came so hard like that, his cock in my ass, filling me up, and him spanking my balls and - pleasepleaseplease. Bull. Please.”

“Fuck,” Bull groans. “Do it, kadan, touch yourself like he did. Come for me.” He shoves up into Dorian, fast and hard, and he can hear Dorian smacking himself. Dorian's ass is already clenching around his cock when Bull shouts, emptying himself in Dorian. 

The smell of smoke presses on his awareness. “Uh, Dorian, you, uhh....” Bull laughs as he eases the mage from his lap. “You wanna extinguish that?”

“Oh, not again,” Dorian grumbles, waving some frost at the smoldering curtains. He sighs. “At least I have diplomatic immunity.”

Intellectually, Bull knows it’s not that funny, but still, it takes him far too long to stop laughing. 

Later, much later, Bull is dozing, his mind moving from one dream to the next. Suddenly a bunch of pieces click into place and he bolts upright, jostling Dorian from his chest.

“Whuzzit?” Dorian rubs his eyes.

“Shit. The servant. That fucking servant.” Bull swears, swinging his legs down from the bed.

“You mean Jordan? What about him?”

“No, the elf. The elf that brought us dinner,” Bull says, looking over his shoulder at Dorian. “You notice how quiet he was?”

“I... suppose,” Dorian says. 

“Yeah, that's because he’s got an accent. A northern accent.” Shit, it’s late. Maybe he could still find Sera. He’s gotta do  _ something _ .

“Care to fill in the rest for me? I’m not following,” Dorian says, sitting up. He rubs his hand between Bull’s shoulder blades.

Bull’s hands are shaking a little, mostly from anger, but also from worry. “Gatt had the same accent. And the thing he said -  _ a pleasant evening be yours _ . That's a Qunlat phrase, translated to common. If he was Orlesian he would’ve said  _ have a pleasant evening.” _

Dorian frowns and waves a few candles to light. “Are you really suggesting that - what - he was a spy? For the Qun?”

“That so hard to believe?” 

Dorian's skin goes pale. “Vishante kaffas. I’d rather hoped for a break from the assassination attempts.”

Bull shakes his horns. “No offense, but I think there’s something else going on, something more than you being here. Felt it when I arrived. Something’s up. Sera thinks so too.”

Dorian pauses, his hand going still. “In any event, there goes my pleasant vacation.”

Bull growls in frustration. “I can’t believe I missed it. Going soft.”

“Bull, you  _ didn’t _ miss it,” Dorian points out. “It just took you a while to realize.”

“I should’ve noticed right away. The guy practically shouted it at me, the way he was staring. Shit, Dorian, what if the food had been poisoned? I should’ve had my guard up, not been -”

“Not been what? Not living your life? Not enjoying a moment’s happiness with the man you love, after a year apart?” Annoyance starts to creep into Dorian's voice. 

_ Yes, _ Bull thinks automatically. He takes a deep breath. That's not his thought, it’s an echo of the Qun, a knee-jerk reaction. “You’re right,” he admits. 

“I’m  _ always _ right,” Dorian insists. “Plus. It would have to be a pretty impressive poison to get past your nose and my magic.”

The burgeoning panic begins to subside. “Yeah. Yeah, good point,” Bull nods. “You have magic against poison?”

Dorian laughs bitterly. “Why do you think I’m still alive?”

Bull almost winces. He doesn’t like thinking about how much danger Dorian faced in Tevinter, how much he’ll be up again if ( _ when, _ just face it) he goes back. Fretting over shit he can’t change won’t help. So he doesn’t. Instead, Bull nods thoughtfully. “Is it in your moustache?”

Squinting in confusion, Dorian rubs his forehead. “What?”

“Your magic against poison. Good place to keep it. You know. By your mouth.” 

For a second, Bull manages to keep his face stony, but then he dissolves into snickers when Dorian buys it. Dorian smacks him on the arm lightly. “Why did I ever take up with you?” Dorian gripes under his breath. “I learned Qunlat for a man who thinks I carry my magic in my moustache.”

Bull flops back on the bed, grinning up at the ceiling, his hand rubbing circles into the small of Dorian's back as he continues to grumble. It’s not the happiest smile Bull’s ever had, but it’s honest. It’s good enough.


End file.
